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Theft, mutilation, and und^ri!»i * . 

'or disciplinary action a^d « ^ ^'. '*'*°''' "''^ -«*>"» 
the University "" "'"^ ''«"'♦ '" ^"''"issal from 

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• We need not bid for cloistered cell. 
Our Tieigh1)our or our friend farewell ; 
Nor strive to wind ourselves too liigb, 
For mortal man beneath the sky." 

The Christian Yeae. 

VOL. I. 




T)ie right of Translation is restrvfd. 

Billins, Printer, 103, llatton Garden, London, and Guildford, Surrey 





It was a morning in March, very wet, very 
windy, very cold, and therefore very mise- 
rable. Lady- day by the calendar, but not a 
- day for ladies by any means. It was eight 
^ o'clock by the chime of St. Clement Danes, 
J and that assertion was confirmed by the 
^ echoes of many distant bells. 
^ Neither the day nor the hour was such as 
" to tempt any great display of kid boots, with 
^ military heels, and scarlet petticoats, peeping 
j from under voluminously flounced skirts. . . 
^ VOL. L . B 


. . No man was out who could find any 
excuse for remaining at home. Houseless 
wanderers of course were abroad : they always 
are, rain or shine ; and henpecked husbands, 
who preferred the storm without to that 
within, and the east wind to the domestic 
breeze. Men of business of all ranks filled 
the omnibuses and cabs, bent, in spite of the 
hurricane, on still raising the wind ! But 
there was scarcely a woman, still less a lady, 
to be seen, when a young girl issued from a 
dingy house in Arundel Street, Strand, armed 
with a Mrs. Gamp -like umbrella, which, so 
far from sheltering her from the pitiless 
storm, seemed very likely to increase her dis- 
comfort, and add to the miseries of a walk 
which few men would have hked to undertake 
on such a morning. 

This umbrella had, however, been forced 
on Miss Lucy Blair, " the Daily Governess," 
by Mrs. Bragge, the kind landlady in whose 
house her mother and herself occupied a 


second floor. Mrs. Bragge, though a London 
lodging-house keeper, had a conscience and a 
heart, a conscience, rare, indeed, in her line 
of Kfe, for it made her respect tea-caddies and 
cold meat ; and a heart rarer still in such 
a line of life, the heart that could feel for 
another, even when that other was only a 
Second Floor. Lucy felt that the old umbrella 
would be an incumbrance, but she did not 
like to refuse what was so very kindly offered. 
Then the keen wind, rushing under the dingy 
canopy formed by this old umbrella, carried it 
along like a ship in full sail, and as, among 
other defects, it had no knob or hook, and 
the stick from constant wear was smooth as 
glass, it was with the greatest difficulty Lucy's 
little numbed fingers could retain any hold of 
it ; to keep up with it at all, she had to run 
along the wet and muddy streets, almost 
flooded by the rain, her teeth chattering with 
the cold, her little feet ill-shod, soaked, and 
muddy, and her bonnet blown awry. To add 

B 2 


to her annoyance, she was beset with mudlarks, 
whom the swollen river had driven into the 
streets (which were filled with their own pe- 
culiar element — mud). They tormented her 
with questions, jokes, jeers, and taunts; "Who's 
your hatter ?" and " Does your mother know 
you're out ?" being addressed to her by at 
least a dozen imp -like, bare-legged boys, who 
persisted in following and annoying her. 

We have said it was no day for ladies ; and 
yet, if gentle birth and breeding, a noble 
spirit, a pure heart, a pious, cultivated, ac- 
compUshed mind, self-control, self-depend- 
ence, self-possession, and perfect manners 
constitute a lady, then this poor step -child of 
fortune, this pretty, delicate Lucy Blaii', this 
Daily Governess, battling at once with Pate 
and with rough weather on the 25th of 
March, of the year of our Lord 1858, was a 
lady indeed ! 

In that poor second-floor in Arundel Street 
she had left, what was dearest to her on 


earth, a tender mother in very delicate health. 
True, Lucy did not know that dear mother's 
sad history well ; but she knew she had seen 
better days, had been married, injured, for- 
saken, and obliged to toil for the support of 
herself and child. She had been for many 
years head teacher in foreign boarding-schools, 
where for her services she received a small 
salary, but, what was far more important, a 
home for herself and Lucy, and a brilliant 
education for the latter. 

When Lucy Blair was seventeen, her mo- 
ther's health became impaired. She had no 
faith in any but English physicians. She had 
seen a French doctor prescribe nothing but 
tisa7ie (a decoction of lime-leaves) in a brain 
fever ; and a Flemish ^sculapius order garden 
worms to be tied up in a rag and bound 
round the throat of a child half suffocated 
with tlie croop. In congestion of the brain 
she had seen an Italian practitioner ap- 
plying leeches to the feet. She had, be- 


sides, a sort of home-sickness. It came like a 
blight over the poor exile. She tried to 
combat it, and was resigned to die. But 
Lucy adored her mother ; Lucy had energy, 
talents, a strong mind, a stout heart, a head 
to plan, and nerve to act. Mrs. Blair had 
looked upon Lucy as a child ; in her extremity 
she found her, a woman. 

"It is my turn now to toil for you, dear 
mamma," said the devoted girl. " Now my 
French, German, Italian, music, drawing and 
dancing shall be converted into current coin 
of the realm of Great Britain. Fear not, I 
will manage all ; luckily you have a little 
hoard, and a quarter's salary due to you." 

At this time they were at Naples. Lucy 
consulted the English clergyman there. 
Herself and mother had been very regular at- 
tendants on his ministry. Lucy's artless tale, 
deHcate beauty, and fiUal tenderness inte- 
rested him. He called on Mrs. Blair, and 
thought, from her wan, wasted looks and de- 


pressed manner, that there was no time to 
lose. He secured a passage at a cheap rate for 
Mrs. Blair and her daughter, recommended 
them to apply for lodgings where he had him- 
self lodged when he was one of the curates of 
St. Clements, with fifty pounds a year ; and 
hearing from Lucy of her intention of main- 
taining, by teaching, the dear mother who 
had so long maintained her by that arduous 
and wearing occupation, he gave her a letter 
of recommendation to Lady Hamilton Tre- 
herne, saying : " Lady Hamilton Treherne, 
wife of Sir George Hamilton Treherne, is not a 
person I should select, had I any choice ; she 
is cold, proud, very exacting, and very selfish. 
But she has children, and wants a governess. 
I was at one time tutor to her brothers, and 
when she was at Naples she attended my 
ministry. She has written to ask me if I 
know either an Italian lady competent to 
teach her daughters, or an English governess 
who, from long residence abroad, is perfect 


mistress of French, Italian, and German, with 
other accomphshments. If you are not too 
young and pretty, you will be all she can 
require ; for I hear from Italians themselves, 
how perfect is your knowledge of the lan- 
guage. You will not like Lady Hamilton 
Trehcrne ; no one does. She is inclined to 
be insolent, and is at once very lavish and 
very mean. She will try to 'do' you, as we 
say at Cambridge, as to 'terms' — don't let 
her ; and she will attempt to awe you into 
being ' done,' but I am certain you have too 
much spirit for that. I shall write and say 
all I think of your merits, if I can do them 
anything like justice in a letter." 

Lucy felt very grateful to Mr. Allgood, the 
kind clergyman, and rather dismayed at the 
prospect of becoming in any way dependent 
on such a woman as Lady Hamilton Treherne 
must be, if she answered Mr. Allgood's de- 
scription . But this feeling shrank into insigni- 
licancc, when she saw her mother's wan eve 


and hollow cheek, and felt the scorching 
touch of her thin hand. The love of Lucy 
for her mother was something beyond what 
even affectionate and dutiful children feel for 
their parents, in ordinary life. It was a self- 
sacrificing, tender, passionate devotion. They 
had lived in foreign lands, and had often been 
the only Protestants in a Roman Catholic 
convent or school. They were in a state of 
isolation from all the world, and dependent 
for love and sympathy on each other alone. 
Lucy would gladly have died for her mother, 
and, more still, she gladly lived for her — lived 
to toil as a Daily Governess, and to endure 
in silence and apparent thankfulness all the 
trials of such a career. 



Lucy's first situation. 

Five weeks after her conversation with Mr. 
Allgood about Lady Hamilton Treherne, 
Lucy Blair, in answer to a haughty note from 
Lady Hamilton Treherne, the cold comfort of 
which she owed to Mr. Allgood's earnest 
recommendation, waited, with a beating heart 
and flushed cheek, on her cold, impassive 
ladyship, and after an hour, which seemed to 
her interminable, and in which was revived 
the old torture of " the question," or rather of 
a hundred and one questions — all selfish, heart- 


less, insolent, and some iiTelevant and cruel — 
Lucy was told that Lady Hamilton Treherne 
would consider of it, and that she should 
hear from her. Lucy almost hoped for rejec- 
tion, but, after a short interval, she received a 
few lines which announced that she was ac- 
cepted, and summoned her to attend at once. 
Lady Hamilton Treherne hated Lucy for 
her youth and beauty, her easy grace, and the 
spirit she evinced in her determination not to 
be ground down to a housemaid's wages, and 
yet have all her valuable time engrossed by 
her employer. But Lady Hamilton Treherne 
had knowledge enough to discover that Lucy 
was a prize not to be lost ; that she would 
save her the expense of masters, and that her 
beauty and youth would never be in her way, 
as before the London world of fashion at- 
tended her lev^e, Miss Blair's time would be 
up and she herself out of the house. 

Lucy was engaged, then, for three hours a 
day, at thirty shillings a week. She had 


been about a fortnight in the habit of attend- 
ing daily at Lady Hamilton Treherne's, in 
Belgrave Square, at the period of the opening 
of our tale. And as her hours were from 
nine to twelve, she had been so lucky as to 
have always finished her duties and taken her 
leave before Lady Hamilton Treherne's bell 
rano; for the ehocolate, which her French 
maid, Annette, always brought to her bed- 
side the first thing in the morning. 

On this very wet morning Lucy had in- 
tended getting into an omnibus, but unfortu- 
nately there was not a place to be had. She 
had a shilling in her glove wdth which it was 
her own wish to purchase some little delicacy 
to tempt her mother's failing appetite, but 
which the latter had forced upon her in case 
she required a cab. Before, however, she saw 
one at all, Lucy had become very wet ; and 
the rain ceasing to pour, though it continued 
to drizzle, she hurried on in great discomfort, 
but still resolved, and keeping her temper in 


spite of jokes cut at her expense, until, turn- 
ing into Belgrave Square, a sudden tempest 
blew the old umbrella inside out, and carried 
it out of Lucy's hands over the iron railing, 
and into the centre of the Square gardens. 

Poor Lucy ! she could have cried with 
dismay and vexation. Mrs. Bragge set so 
great a value on that terrible old umbrella, 
whose whalebone ribs were literally through 
its mummy-coloured calico skin, and whose 
spring had a bad habit of suddenly giving 
way without any warning. Poor old um- 
brella ! it possessed neither ferule nor knob, 
button nor loop, and when open it exhibited 
two slits, a darn, and a patch. It had, indeed, 
every disease to which the constitution of an 
umbrella is liable. But Mrs. Bragge, who never 
stirred out, set a great value on it " for a' that." 
Lucy decided in her own mind that she must 
ask Lady Treherne's butler to get it for her 
— luckily he was very goodnatured, and fret- 
ting about it would do no good. So Lucy, 


weather-beaten, wet, cold, dreary, and with 
nothing but her brave spirit and warm heart 
to uphold her, knocked gently, with numbed 
fingers, at the grand entrance of Sir Hamilton 
Treherne's princely mansion in Belgrave 
Square; and her misery, her insignificance, 
and her saturated, shabby drapery formed a 
strange contrast' to that noble portico, those 
stately pillars, and marble steps ; and to the 
comfort and splendour of the hall — the 
blazing fire, the porter in his great crimson 
chair, the powdered footman reading the 
papers and sneering at the daily governess ; 
and the condescending courtesy of Mr. 
Malmsey, the butler, who looked like a phy- 
sician — He listened to her story about the 
umbrella, and peremptorily dispatched one of 
the powdered footmen in search of it, in spite 
of great reluctance on the part of " Jeames," 
and a cough he shammed as an excuse. The 
old umbrella was captured at last, and furnished 
amusement for the whole morning to the two 


footmen, who spent a merry hour or two 
laughing as heartily over its defects as if it had 
been an old friend of their own ; and " Jeames," 
who boasted a brown silk umbrella in an oil- 
skin case, with an ivory handle, and all the 
perfections the best maker could unite in a 
first-rate article, felt and looked very angry 
with Miss Blair and Mr. Malmsey, for ex- 
posing him to the wet and the degradation of 
such a hunt. Lucy Blair took off her go- 
loshes and cloak in an anteroom, and repaired 
to the schoolroom as the clock struck nine, 
shivering, it is true, but trying to conceal the 
fact that she was wet through. 



Lucy's trials begin betimes. 

Poor Lucy Blair's damp feet and wet gar- 
ments had, however, not escaped the notice 
of Hannah, the schooboom maid, who was 
very vain, envious, and ill-tempered ; and, who 
being always much better dressed than Miss 
Blair, felt very angry at having to wait upon 
her, and at the involuntary deference inspired 
in her own heart, in spite of herself, by Lucy's 
gentle dignity of manner. 

Hannah was a smart, neat-looking girl, 
who would have been pretty, but for a nose 


which " Jeames," the handsome footman, and 
professed wit of the servants' hall, had said 
was a hook, only the hook Avas turned the 
wrong way — up instead of down; and who 
had cherry lips, but more like the stick of 
cherries sold at the stalls, than the " twin 
cherries" to which ladies' lips are so often 

Now, " Jeames," who was, or who pre- 
tended to be, a great connoisseur in female 
beauty, had been heard to declare that ''Our 
daily governess was prettier than any girl at 
the Queen's last Drawing Room, or in ' the 
Gardens,' on Sunday," where " Jeames," with 
a number of his fellows, (congregated outside), 
had criticised every haughty dame and trip- 
ping miss, who little dreamt of the severe 
scrutiny bestowed in such a quarter on her 
person, her dress, and even her walk. 
"Jeames's" admiration of '^our governess" 
had p\it the finishing stroke to Hannah's 
hatred of that young lady, particularly when, 

VOL. I. c 



coming down one day to dinner with a very 
gay cap, and ridiculing the plain attire of 
poor Lucy, " Jeames" set the table in a roar 
by observing, " That some had all their hows 
about their ears, and some had them all 
dangling about their tails." Upon which 
Mr. Malmsey had remarked, "That if he, 
' Jeames,' presumed to allude to Miss Blair, 
that young lady was no fit subject for his 
jokes ; for though her beauty and manner 
would win all 'arts, she was much too modest 
and particular to have any followers dangling 
after her ; and, in any case, Mr. Jeames 
would do well to remember she was meat for 
his master" (probably meaning his portly, 
handsome self). 

Since this unlucky tribute (for Hannah 
knew Mr. Malmsey was well-to-do, and woidd 
have given him her 'and, if not her 'art), all 
the thoughts of the schoolroom maid were 
employed upon the ways and means of 
getting Miss Blair either dismissed, or of 


making^her so uncomfortable that she wouhl 
be induced to resign. 

It was arranged that, for the future, Lucy 
should dine with her pupils at Lady H. Tre- 
herne's ; and this was proposed with no re- 
ference to her comfort or advantage, poor 
girl, but because Lady H. Treherne had dis- 
covered that her children, left entirely t(j 
servants at their meals, were acquiring very 
vulgar habits at table. It also insured a good 
deal of conversation in French, Italian, and 
German during dinner, and the hour after 
the repast, which was to be devoted to re- 
creation. Recreation ! to correct the blunders 
of four self-willed, insolent girls, whose 
wretched accent, and more wretched grammar, 
positively wounded the delicate ear of poor 
Lucy Blair. 

By the arrangement about the one o'clock 
dinner. Lady Treherne seciu-ed an additional 
hour and a half of poor Lucy's time ; and 
Lucy, though she hated a scheme which 

c 2 


prolonged her thraldom and her absence from 
her mother, was so influenced by that 
mother's wishes and entreaties, that she con- 
sented to the plan laid out, and was to 
preside at the schoolroom dinner for the first 
time on this very occasion. 

As to Mrs. Blair, the idea that Lucy would 
get a good hot dinner every day, before re- 
turning home, was a positive blessing, and 
almost filled her thoughts during her 
daughter's absence. 

Hannah was furious at the idea of having 
to stand behind Miss Blair's chair, to take 
her orders, do her bidding, answer the bell, 
and wait on her. " Shabby-genteel bit of a 
think, as if she were a real lady, and no 
mistake." " It was," she observed to the house- 
maid, " so bemeaning, so aggravating, and so 
infra Dick, that the idea of it had positively 
quite upset her, made her feel very historical, 
and turned her nerve." But it had not yet 
occurred, and Hannah, seeing Miss Blair so 


wet, and knowing the high spirit concealed 
under her gentle manner, had fancied she saw 
a way to what she called a Croesus in the 

Hannah, pretending then a great anxiety 
for the young ladies' health, no sooner heard 
her mistress's bell ring for Annette, with her 
chocolate and croiltons, than she made bold to 
tap at Lady Treherne's door ; and being ad- 
mitted, while that lady sipped from her Sevres 
china the choice and fragrant beverage, and 
" frequent cups prolonged the rich repast," 
Hannah gave a lively description, and a very 
spiteful one, of the damp state in which Miss 
Blair was sitting close to Miss Augusta, who 
had a cough already, and of the perils all the 
young ladies incurred ; adding that '' people 
like Miss Blair of course could stand any think, 
but yomig ladies as fair and dehcate as their 
own ' Mar ' didn't ought to run no risks — 
which it was Miss Blair's duty to come in a 
cab, rather than offer to sit among her young 


mistresses in such a state — that they had all 
been sneezing and coughing ever since, and 
Miss Augusta looked quite pale, and had the 

Now, Augusta was her mother's favourite, 
and Augusta's bloom was a great source of 
pride. They were all fine, tall, aristocratic- 
looking girls, with perfect features, and light 
flaxen hair, but all, except Augusta, so pale 
as to be almost sallow ; and, owing to this 
defect, they were not reckoned pretty by 
people who attach (as almost every one in 
reality does) more importance to brilliant 
colouring than to classical outline. Augusta 
alone had not only a rose in her cheek, but a 
few stray sunbeams in her hair; and this, 
with a rich dash of tm-quoise in her large 
eyes, gave to her beauty all the brilliancy 
und charm in which her sisters were deficient, 
and which their lady mother scrupled not to 
try to borrow from art. 

Augusta, indeed, bore some resemblance to 


her lovely governess, both in form and face ; 
but, pretty as she really was, Lucy Blair was 
a thousand times prettier. " The mind, the 
music, breathing from her face," as Byron 
says, the intellect enthroned on her brow, 
and the sympathetic expression of her violet 
eyes and soft red lips, made Augusta look, 
beside Lucy Blair, like a showy piece of wax- 
work beside a Madonna or a Saint by some 
old master. 

In mere physical beauty, too, Lucy Blair 
bore away the palm, and every candid person 
who noticed the likeness remarked her great 
superiority ; but Lady Hamilton Treherne 
woidd have resented as an impertinence a 
comparison between Miss Augusta and the 
poor youn{* governess. She delighted to hear 
it said that Augusta was her mother in 
miniature, and all her dependents learned her 
weakness, and of course ])]ayed upon it. 

" Do you mean to say, llannali," lisped Lady 
Hamilton Treherne, while Annette refilled her 


cup from the embossed silver chocolate-pot — 
*' do you mean to say that Miss Blair has 
presumed to walk here, on such a morning as 
this, from the City, or the Borough, or what- 
ever horrid place it is, she lives in ? — and that 
she is sitting in her wet clothes, giving cold 
to the young ladies ?" 

"Yes, my -lady," said Hannah. "What 
first struck me, my lady, was how pale Miss 
Augusta was looking — not the least like you, 
my lady, which she always reminds of your 
ladyship when I look at her, on account of 
her lovely colour — and then I heard her 
cough, and the other young ladies sneeze, and 
looking at Miss Blair, I saw her dress was 
clinging round her and steaming as she sat 
by the fire. And I went and looked in the 
anteroom, my lady, and there's her old plaid 
cloak, quite wet through ; and as for her 
goloshes, they're quite a sight, my lady ! So 
I thought it my duty to come and inform 
your ladyship, for Miss Blair is much too 
high for me to venture to speak to her." 


'' You did quite right, Hannah ; I am 
much pleased with you. Tell Miss Blair I 
wish to speak to her directly. A new-laid 
egg, Annette — a turkey egg, if you have one 
— and I could fancy a rasher of breakfast 

" Yes, my lady ; I am so glad you eat a 
leetle; I thought my lady had lost her 
charming appetite." 

There was a low tap at the door. 




'' Come in," said Lady Hamilton Treherne, 
raising herself on her elbow, while Annette 
arranged the swelling pillows of snowy cambric 
and costly lace, so as to support her lady's 
languid form, and threw a fine white cashmere 
shawl over the richly-worked night-dress, that 
only partly concealed her thin white arms and 
bust — " Come in." 

Lucy Blair approached. 

" Oh, don't come too near me ! — I am very 
susceptible of cold — all the Trehernes are — 


not the catarrh of common people, but a cold 
peculiar to the Trehernes ! Pray stand where 
T can see you — but farther off, if you please. 
I have all Beau Brummel's horror of a damp 
stranger. I really am quite shocked, Miss 
Blore, or Blair, or whatever it is, to see you 
in this state." 

" I am flattered beyond measure by your 
ladyship's interest and anxiety," said Lucy, 
pretending to ascribe some common politeness 
and common humanity to the fine lady, yet 
her heart burning, her cheek flushed, and her 
tears ready to gush forth at the cruel insolence 
of her address. '' Allow me to thank you for 
your kindness, and to assure you that I was 
so well protected by my cloak and umbrella, 
that I do not think I shall take cold." 

" You misunderstand me. Miss Blore," said 
Lady Hamilton Treherne. " I have no doubt 
you will escape cold ; of course you are used 
to be out in all weathers, and one don't mhid 
what one is used to. But though quite safe 


for you, your damp clothes are very dangerous 
for the young ladies. Your pupils take after 
me, and I have little doubt they will all be 
laid up with severe attacks of the regular 
Treherne cold. Low fever, pain in the chest, 
and prostration of mind and body, are the 
first symptoms ; and weeks of inaction 

Lucy was roused. " What you call the 
Treherne cold, madam," she replied, " is very 
like influenza ; and if your daughters are cer- 
tain to have caught it from my damp clothes, 
which surely would be more likely to aff'ect 
me, I had better discontinue my visits. It is 
difficult enough as it is to arouse their atten- 
tion, and conquer confirmed habits of sloth ; 
but if perfect prostration ensues, I can be of 
no use here." 

Lady Hamilton Treherne was perfectly as- 
tounded at the calm self-assertion and digni- 
fied independence of this speech. She gazed 
at Lucy with a cold, insolent stare, which. 


however, gradually changed, as she met the 
proud, mournful, and somewhat reproachful 
gaze of Lucy's beautiful eyes. Amazement 
kept her ladyship silent. Hannah and An- 
nette looked on, almost with the interest 
people do at a race or fight. There lav, 
lapped in luxury, canopied with crimson vel- 
vet, couched on down, robed in cambric, lace, 
and cashmere, waited on by obsequious flat- 
terers, and fed with dainties from Sevres china 
and silver plate, the still handsome, selfish, 
aristocratic employer; and there stood — her 
damp, okl, black silk dress clinging to her 
slight Psyche form, her wet hair gathered and 
knotted up at the back of her head, ill -clad, 
poorly fed, overworked, but with a lion heart, a 
martyr spirit, and the flush of modest worth 
stung to resentment by heartless insolence — the 
Daily Governess! Andtlic native dignity of the 
girl triumphed over the cruel insolence and 
acquired coolness of the woman ; and Lady Ha- 
milton Treherne dropped her eyes, aiul raising 


tliem with a softened, coaxing expression, 
said — 

" If I did not allude to the danger of your 
taking cold yourself, Miss Blair, it was be- 
cause, from your perfect indifference to the 
state of your clothes, I thought you might be 
used, as many very respectable people are, to 
be out in all: weathers." 

" So far from it, madam," said Lucy, " the 
life I led, till I accepted your situation, was 
one of so much seclusion and shelter that I 
scarcely remember ever having been caught 
in a shower in my hfe." 

" Dear me !" exclaimed Lady Hamilton 
Treherne ; " I had no idea of this — I wish I 
had known it. I thought daily governesses 
were almost (from constant exposure to the 
elements) as weatherproof as .sailors." 

" I made my debit as a daily governess in 
this house a fortnight ago, madam ; and if, as 
you anticipate, the young ladies will not be 
able to attend to their studies at present, I 


am quite ready to resign the office. I 
have many more applications, and — forgive 
me for saying so — some which promise more 
docihty in the pupils and more sympathy in 
the parents." 

As Lucy spoke, the tears sparkled in her 
eyes, and her cheek paled and glowed alter- 
nately. Hannah, at the other end of the 
room, whispered to Annette, " There's a spirit, 
and she only a daily !" And Annette, with 
a Frenchwoman's ready pity for the oppressed, 
exclaimed, " Poor tin' ! lapauvrette ! she won't 
get no sympatee here from «my lady, and no 
doceelity from her pupils, I don't tink !" 

Lady Hamilton Treherne, who before this 
interview had mtended to humble, but not to 
dismiss Lucy (whose talents were of so rare an 
order, and who took such conscientious pains 
with her pupils), valued her all the more 
highly, as she saw how ready she was to resign 
her thankless and laborious task. It was, 
therefore, in her softest and most winninir 
tones that Lady Hamilton Treherne said — 


" I spoke rather too harshly at first, my dear 
Miss Blair, because I was so vexed at the idea 
of the children catching cold, which Hannah 
told me they had done, assuring me, at the 
same time, that you were used to all 

" So it's all laid on my shoulders !" mur- 
mured Hanilah to Annette. 

" Never mind," replied Annette ; " dey is 
broad enough to bear more dan dat." 

Lucy made no reply. Lady Hamilton Tre- 
herne therefore continued — 

" I am not a person of many words. Miss 
Blair ; I am not demonstrative, as people say 
now-a-days. I feel much more than I express, 
and think much that I never utter. Little as 
you imagine it, I thoroughly appreciate you, 
and would not part with you on any account. 
I see already that my girls are improved : I 
empower you to enforce docility in any way 
you think best, and I assure you you have my 
warmest sympathy . ' ' 


An involuntary smile curled Lucy Blair's 
lip, as she thought how very tepid was her 
ladyship's warmest sympathy. 

" I feel certain," added her ladyship, " from 
your delicate appearance and your being (of 
which I was not aware) unused to be wet 
through, you will take cold, unless you change 
all your things. If you will go into my dress- 
ing-room, Annette shall attend you with some 
of mine — new," of course — and which I hope 
you will oblige me by accepting. In the 
meantime, your own clothes shall be care- 
fully dried. But let me hear no more of the 
desertion you meditate, and never doubt a 
mother's sympathy in your patient, earnest 
efforts to improve her children. Those efforts. 
Miss Blair, have been the theme of comment 
and of praise both with their aunt, Lady Pry, 
and myself. Annette, show Miss Blair into 
my dressing-room, and come for my orders. 
My dear Miss Blair," added the fine lady, 
holding out her white and jewelled hand, " do 

^0L. I. D 


oblige me by accepting the things A^nnette 
shall bring you." 

" As a loan, madam," said Lucy — " not as 
a gift." And she touched the hand which 
pressed her own as she took leave. 




Annette showed Miss Blair into the ele- 
gant dressing-room, and, as she stood before 
the cheval glass, it struck her that she was 
the only shabby-looking thing in that costly, 
well - appointed tiring - room of fashionabk^ 
beauty ; and yet there was nothing there half 
so rare or so priceless, so perfect in form, so 
genuine, or so sterling. For what gem is half 
so precious as such a mind and such a 
heart as poor Lucy Blair's ? And, by way of 
setting to the jewel, what work of art is half 

D 2 


SO exquisite as that modest moss rosebud 
beauty which we sometimes see in an English 
girl of seventeen, before Passion has scorched 
one half- unfolded petal of the flower, and 
while her brightest moments spring from 
home affections and mental pleasures ? . . . 

Annette soon returned. She found Lucy 
Blair standing' where she had left her. Lucy's 
things were so old and shabby, she was 
ashamed to take them off" and hand them 
over to the scrutiny of the well-dressed Han- 
nah and the smart Annette. But Annette 
had her lady's order, Lucy saw resistance 
was vain. The Trench are very quick, and 
though all Lucy's under-garments were whole 
and very clean, yet things so darned, so pieced 
and mended, had never met Annette's view 
before. She felt that Lucy was ashamed of 
them (a false shame). Annette, who knew the 
world and the value of beauty in this metro- 
polis of sin, respected the poor child for the 
penury which proved her pure and good. 


" I can dry them at home, mademoiselle," 
said Lucy ; " only roll them up." 

" No, no, Miss ; look here !" and opening 
a door, Annette showed a small room with a 
good fire. " Dat is my room ; no one dare 
enter dere. I will dry dem ; no one sail see 
one bit of dem." 

" They are so old," said Lucy ; and seeing 
tears in the Frenchwoman's eyes, she added, 
" and poverty is such a crime in this great 
city — and English servants are so inso- 
lent." . . , 

" Dat Hannah is — I won't say what. Don't 
be ashamed, young lady. How many dis very 
day, dressed like duchesses, would be glad of 
dis poor robe, turned, mended, pieced, tread - 
bare (and not neber no great tings when new), 
if deir hearts could beat under it as pure and 
light as yours — pauvrette ! , . . You say trues 
poverty is a crime in London ; but when it is 
de only crime of a life, it cannot make us 
really ashame or unhappy. ... Ah 1 be poor, 


be eber poor. Alas ! how easy for you to be 
very rich !" 

Lucy Blair had but a dim notion of what 
Annette meant. She had read few novels, and 
hardly ever saw a paper ; her life had been 
spent under her mother's eye in the seclusion 
and safety of schools and convents abroad. 
She knew nothing of life — life in London 
especially — and her poor mother was not 
much better informed. Lucy saw that An- 
nette meant all that was kind and flattering, 
and while the latter went of her own accord 
to get a footbath for the poor little numbed 
feet she had found by feeling them to be as 
" colt as ice," Lucy hastily dressed herself in 
the delicate and fragrant articles provided for 

Lady Hamilton Treherne had nothing (how- 
ever professedly simple) that was not elegant 
in the extreme. Her figure, by dint of pinch- 
ing in and padding out, was much what Lucy's 
was fresh from the hands of nature. 


Lucy was slight, but her form well rounded, 
liady Hamilton Treherne was very thin. She 
had sent in a dress that neither exactly fitted 
nor became her : a pale brown velvet jacket 
and a skirt of French merino (with many 
flounces) of the same colour. There were 
sleeves and chemisettes of Mechlin lace, with 
turquoise blue bows. Lucy, as she gazed at 
herself in the cheval glass, was amazed at the 
effect her beauty produced (thus arrayed). It 
was the only fashionable dress she had ever 
put on in her Ufe. Annette came in and bui'st 
into rapturous expressions of admiration, truly 
French ! . . . She made Lucy bathe her cold 
feet in the warm water she had brought, and 
while she did so, without giving her any notice, 
threw ^peignoir over her shoulders, and sud- 
denly untwisting her long and lustrous hair, 
proceeded rapidly to dress it in the newest 

She then brought Lucy in a cup of hot cho- 
colate and some rusks, and when the latter hnd 


taken this refreshment, saying, " You can join 
de young ladies, Miss, widout disturbing my 
lady," she ushered Lucy through a passage,and 
down a flight of back stairs, into the school- 
room. The Misses Hamilton Treherne, who 
had had an interview with their mamma, and 
had raceived strict orders to be very docile 
and good to Miss Blair, and to make no com- 
ments on her altered dress, ventured on none 
of the impertinent remarks Lucy had dreaded. 
They were really beginning to like and to 
respect her ; and, with the love of the beauti- 
ful, natural to their age and sex, they smiled 
the admiration they had been forbidden to 

Meanwhile Annette, true to her word, was 
drying, in the secret recesses of her own 
chamber, the thin old, turned, mended black 
sarcenet dress, and the stockings so carefully 
" footed." The old white petticoats were so 
muddy, she decided they must go to the 
wash ; and that all she could do was to iron 


out the ribbons x)f the straw bonnet, and have 
the plaid cloak dried and the goloshes cleaned. 

The dinner went off pleasantly. The hour 
of recreation was enlivened by Lucy Blair's 
htstoriettes, in French and Italian, of some of 
her schoolfellows ; and when she rose to go, 
Annette, taking her agam to her lady's dress- 
ing-room, informed her how impossible it vras 
for her to re-assume her own things on that 
day, and how earnestly her lady, who was gone 
out in the carriage, begged her acceptance of 
the trifles she had worn. 

Lucy resolved to consult her mother as to 
keeping them. She saw she had no choice, 
and that slie must Avear them till her own 
were ready. 

Thanking the kind Annette again and again, 
wrapped in the old cloak and armed with the 
terrible umbrella (a horrible nuisance now the 
weather Avas fine and the sun shining), Lucy, 
passed through the hall. To her delight she 
saw neitlier of the tall footmen. Mr. Malmsey 


issued from some unseen quarter, opened the 
door for her, hoped she would take no cold, 
ventured on the joke that good people were 
scarce — and Lucy was once more free as the 
birds, and almost as glad. 




A SET of gay men about town were lounging 
in a bay window of one of those temples which 
modern Sybarites rear to themselves, and on 
whose altar they sacrifice wives, children, 
home, domestic affections, and household 
sympathies. It was a fashionable club, and 
its appointments enabled bachelors to despise 
matrimony, and Benedicks to escape from close 
dingy houses smelhng of roast nuitton, from 
querulous wives, noisy children, parlour-maids, 
or pages, and to enjoy, with some few hun- 


dreds per annum, the luxuries otherwise 
reserved to the possessor of annual thou- 

" What are you all looking for ?" said a 
fashionable man, who had been very hand- 
some, and thought he was so still, in which 
opinion — as he was very rich, and lavish 
wl ere his pleasures were concerned — ball-room 
belles and ballerinas equally conspired to 
confirm him. " Come, don't keep the joke 
to yourself. Let me in for a wTinkle — do, 
Bertram !" 

'' I thought I'd let you in for a good many, 
when I introduced you last night to Miss 
Plinlimmon," laughed Bertram — Lord Bertram 
Papillon, son of the Duke of Pompadour. 
" How did you get on with the heiress ? 
Will she do?'' 

"No; I'm too well off to marry merely for 
money, and too poor to marry merely for love. 
Old Plinlimmon won't do, though I see she's 
of a different opinion." 


" And pretty Lady Clara, that dear, wild 
Irish girl, whose face is her fortune — " 

" No, I can't aflPord her. Marrying for 
love is a luxury no man should allow himself, 
unless he has twenty thousand a year. But 
I saw pretty Clara would have no objec- 

" Old coxcomb ! superannuated ass !" mut- 
tered Henry Greville, a very handsome unpaid 
attache, who had next to nothing per annum, 
and lived, alas ! on bills and credit, but who was 
or thought himself in love with pretty Lady 
Clara's Irish black hair, blue eyes, red lips, 
white teeth, ready wit, rich humour, and " the 
sweetbriery fence" that "hedged in the divinity" 
of her beauty. " Detestable fat okl coxcomb !" 
he said to his friend Cecil Sydney — '* why, he 
is fifty -five, wears stays, and a ventilating 
peruke, and uses bloom of Ninon ; and }et, 
confound him, because he has ten thousand a 
year, he believes, perhaps knows, that Clara 
O'Rourke would jumj) at him." 


" I wish we could get him from the window^ 
Hal," said Cecil. " I don't want him to- see 
that beautiful girl, you know who ; and this is 
the hour, nay, the very minute, she always 
passes the window." 

" Have you found out her name, and where 
she lives ?" 

" No, for my fellow, Le Fiiret, who's worth 
all the detectives in London, for hunting out 
man, woman, or child, is laid up with the 
spleen or the sulks, or an aitaque de poitrine or 

de mauvaise humeur^ or something And 

I can trust no one else." 

" But why not follow her — speak to her — 
scrape acquaintance with her ?".... 

" I'm afraid !" 

" Afraid ! The Honoui'able Cecil Sydney, 
the handsomest man about town, the pet of 
the petticoats — whether of rich brocade, 
white muslin, or plain cotton — afraid to speak 
to a little, shy, simple, ill-drest girl ; who must 
be some distressed needlewoman, or more dis- 


tressed penwoman, some teacher or staymaker, 
to be always trudging along quite alone at the 
same hour !".... 

" It is because she is so shy, Hal, so simple, 
and so poorly dressed, that I am afraid to 
speak to her, Hal -, if she were some dashing, 
self-possessed, showily-arrayed damsel, her 
beauty, great as it is, would not daunt me. 
But what can detain her ? I so dread that 
conceited old porpoise. Sir Jasper Malvoisin, 
getting a glimpse of her. He's such a brute, 
such a wealthy brute too." 

" But, Sydney, if he could make any way 
with her, she isn't worth a second thought. I 
despise any woman who tolerates for a moment 
the pompous, sensual egotism of that atrocious 
old coxcomb." 

"Except Lady Clara; you don't despise 
her." .... 

" Last night I thought I did ; but I believe 
it was all her mother's doing. Old Lady 
O'Rourkc is such a terrible vixen, and she so 


dreads and abominates me ! Ah ! Sydney, 
why haven't I even a younger brother's por- 
tion Hke you ? I can't hold out much longer; 
I must go through the Insolvent Court, unless 
I get some appointment, to quiet Levi and Co. 
at least, with their sixty per cent, interest.'* 

"I'll speak to my father, Hal. But come, 
man, let's walk up St. James's Street ; she is 
sure to come down it. As I said before, I dread 
Sir Jasper's seeing her, not, as you imagine, 
lest he should captivate her, but lest he should 
add to the dread which I see she already has, 
poor child ! of every well-dressed man. I 
know Old Jasper; he's an unmitigated brute. 
I dare say, if he took to following her up, he'd 
terrify her so she'd never venture out again ; 
and, perhaps, if her daily bread depends on 
her daily toil, she'd stance at home." 

" Well, come along," said Cecil. 

" But what do you mean, if you can get to 
speak to her, and to know her?" asked Gre- 


" Ah, Hal, that I dare not ask myself. At 
present, I feel that sort of vague, restless curi- 
osity about her, which is the most tormenting 
state a man can be in. I never saw a face and 
form that pleased and interested me half so 
much ; so I must know what sort of mind, 
manner, voice, character, belong to that 
exquisite Psyche." 

"And if they correspond to her person, 
what then ?" 

" What then I who can tell ? If she likes 
me — if she loves me — " 

" Well, if she loves you, you will sacrifice 
her, not yourself; take her from honest 
poverty and praiseworthy toil to luxuries that 
she and all her humble relatives will consider 
shame ; and in a short time you will be very 
thankful if Sir Jasper Malvoisin (brute though 
he be) will take her off your hands ; thence 
her progress downwards will be rapid and 
horrible ! If she is a good girl, leave her so. 
I am a sad dog — a careless fellow ; but I 

VOL. I. E 


wouldn't seduce an innocent girl, no, not to 
be a rich man, and out of Levi's power." 

"The idea of Henry Greville turning 
moralist ! It's too absurd ! I don't say I 
shall do the girl any harm. She may not hke 
me ; and if I cannot make her love me, there's 
no danger for her. Women's peril is from 
within, not from without. But I will hear 
her voice, and know what sort of mind lights 
those violet eyes, and what a smile would be 
from that sweet mouth. Now listen, Hal ; 
I want to seem to be her friend — her de- 
fender — her preux chevalier. She is nothing 
to you ; you're in love with that wild flirt, 
Clara O'Rourke. ' But, an thou love me, 
Hal,' just help me to scrape acquaintance with 
her — I don't know her name — ' the inexpres- 
sive she.' Do you speak to her ; I'll pretend 
to take her part, and call you to account ; do, 
there's a good fellow. If you will, I'll help 
you with Lady Clara, and I'll bother my 
father so, that he must do something for you." 


"Well, I don't half like it; but—" 

" Here she comes, by Jove, Cecil ! Look 
what a wretched old umbrella she has in her 
little hand. Come, just for a joke, ask her 
to let you carry it for her." 

At this moment Lucy Blair approached. 
A gust of wind raised her veil, and distinctly 
showed her fair young face to the two young 
men. With modest dignity she avoided them, 
but yet they made towards her. At that mo- 
ment a cabman hailed her. Lucy, seeing an 
intention of accosting her in the handsome 
young fashionables, whose eyes were fixed 
upon her, as she thought, impertinently, 
suddenly darted across the pavement, and 
entered the cab, the door of which the man 
opened in obedience to her signal. 

" To the Strand," she said, in a low voice 
to " cabby ;" and away he drove the rickety 
old cab. 

Lucy threw tlie old umbrella on the o])- 
posite scat, and, leaning back, wiped away a 

E 2 



tear — a tear wrung from her poor heart by 
the sense of her unprotected, anxious, morti- 
fying position ; a tear which those gay young 
men, wild and reckless though they were, 
would yet have been sorry to have caused 
her, for they had some good left in their 
natures yet; they were not quite ci)rrupt. 
However, Lucy's sudden and spirited ma- 
noeuvre put them on their mettle, and the 
pursuit was becoming piquant. They hailed 
a Hansom, got in, and ordered the driver to 
follow the old yellow cab. 

" You won't follow it far, gentlemen," said 
the Hansom man ; " the 'oss had just picked 
hisself up round the corner a moment afore the 
lady hailed him. Don't ye see how that old 
wehicle sways, just like a ship in a storm ?" 

" I hope the poor girl won't be hurt," said 

"If she should be upset," replied Cecil, 
"I can rush forward, like a true knight 
errant, and offer my services." 


Lucy felt that all was not right, and pnt 
her head out. She called to " cabby." He 
would not hear her. She pulled the check 
strmg, old and rotten — it snapped in her 
hand. She saw boys grin and grimace as they 
passed, and cabmen nod, wink, and make 
signs to her driver. 

Poor Lucy ! she began to feel very uncom- 
fortable, and had resolved on trying to open 
the cab door, when, just as they turned into 
the Strand, she was thrown violently forward. 
The wretched, groggy horse was rolling in 
the street, and the cab, far too old and 
rickety to sustain the shock uninjured, was 
suddenly severed from springs and axle, and 
gently laid on its side ! 

A crowd, a thick crowd, gathered round. 
Lucy, terrified, and a Httle bruised, Avas 
thankful to find slic was not seriously hurt. 
Of course, at the upset, the Hansom had 
stopped ; and the hand that opened the cab 
door and helped Lucy out was a hand cased 


in lemon-coloured kid. Cecil Sydney almost 
bore the frightened girl into a shop; and 
Henry Greville followed, bearing in triumph 
the old umbrella 1 




It was into a pastrycook's shop that Cecil 
Sydney had partly led, partly borne the 
frightened Lucy. Confused and ashamed, 
she had not yet raised her eyes ; but in spite 
of many expressions of " gratitude for the 
kindness lavished on her," and " regret at 
giving so much trouble," added to assurances 
that she was " not at all hurt, and was quite 
ready to proceed home," Lucy found herself 
placed with gentle force (and rather against 


her will) on the little black horse-hair sofa at 
the farther end of the back parlour. 

The room was so dark that, fresh from the 
bright March sunshine outside, and still a 
little dizzy and shaken by her " upset," Lucy 
could at first scarcely see anything. By 
degrees she glanced timidly around on small 
marble slabs 'strewn with Fundi, The TimeSy 
and other papers, and on a centre table laden 
with baked custards (powdered with nutmeg), 
jellies, buns, spongecakes, and tartlets. 

At length she caught sight of her own 
face and form in an opposite mirror (not a 
flattering one), but it apprized her of the fact 
that her bonnet was crushed into a most 
ludicrous shape, something like the chapeau 
has of the last century. Lucy was young 
and light-hearted, and she burst out into a 
pretty, ringing, merry laugh, as she took off 
the bonnet to bend it back into shape. 

Afraid of alarming her, Cecil Sydney and 
Henry Greville drew back behind the glass 


door, so that she could not see thek reflected 
forms and faces, their bare throats, loose 
coats, short hair, and long beards ; but they 
could contemplate at their ease the perfect 
shape of her small head, and the profusion of 
auburn hair which Annette had so neatly and 
modishly arranged. 

Forgetful of their presence, or perhaps 
thinking they had kindly left her after seeing 
she was not seriously injured, Lucy ap- 
proached the mirror, and taking oif the plaid 
cloak, of which the clasp was broken, and the 
hem soiled by the mud as she had crossed 
the pavement, her beautiful figure, in the 
elegant jacket and skirt Lady Hamilton Tre- 
herne had forced upon her, met the view of 
the two young men. They exchanged looks 
of surprise and admiration, mixed with some 
little perplexity, for they were, or thought 
themselves, great connoisseurs in female 
beauty and dress, and were certainly un- 
sparing critics of both ; but that is not at all 


the same thing, we know. However, they un- 
derstood dress well enough to marvel at the 
great discrepancy between the old plaid cloak, 
shabby bonnet, and " Gamp" umbrella, and 
the taste and richness of the toilet beneath. 
They were quite bewildered. 

Just at this moment Cabby came into 
the little back parlom\ touched his hat and 
said — 

" Glad to see you're none the wuss, miss ! 
I'm Sony to say I can't make no great shakes 
of a r^-pair — it's a baddish job. Sorry to 
disappoint ye, miss, but all I can do is to call 
ye another cab." 

Lucy could not help laughing at the man's 
evident idea that she had set her heart on 
proceeding in his rickety old vehicle. 

" Ah," said Cabby, " what's fun to you 

is death to me, miss It's a matter of 

three -pun -ten out of my puss, or rather, 
pusson ; for as I can't pay with one I must 
with t'other." 


''I am very, very sorry for you," said Lucy, 
*' but here's your fare." 

" Come, that's a good 'un," said Cabby ; 
*' I s'pose you means that for a joke, miss." 

" No, indeed !" said Lucy ; " it is your full 
fare, I am sure ! — indeed, it is more. I only 
took you from St. James's Street." 

" Well, I little expected," said " Cabby," 
tossing the shilling up and catching it again 
and again in his horny palm, " I little ex- 
pected money of this colour from you, mum, 
after all that's 'appened to that 'ere blessed 
thorough -bred oss and first-rate wehicle in 
your sarvice. Says I to myself, when I felt 
what wor coming, bless her hansome face 
inside, says 1, she shan't be disappointed no 
wise — come what will — come what will, she'll 
not let a })oor feller, with a sick wife and nine 
small children, be none the wuss for her, she 
won't. So says I to a pal o' mine as says, 
*Why, Joe, that ere's ruination, ain't it?' 
Wait a bit, says I, there's some one inside that 


'ere shop as '11 make it up to a poor feller, and 
something over to drink her health, and no 
mistake, says I." 

The impudence and extortion of " Cabby," 
and the mute horror and surprise of the 
terrified and bewildered Lucy, so convulsed 
with laughter the young exquisites behind 
the glass door, that, fearing to offend and 
alarm her, they withdrew farther into the 
front shop, but were all eyes and ears to as- 
certain the result. 

" Come, miss, come it 'ansome," said 
Cabby. "When you lies down in your 
warm, soft, feather bed, after a good hoister 
supper may be, as is always werry acceptable 
when one's been treated to the thee-ater, you 
wouldn't like to think, that a-howing to you, 
a poor feller's lying supperless on the bare 
boards, with his wife and young family a 

crying for bread You wouldn't 

just " 

" Good gracious !" at last broke from poor 


Lucy, tears in her eyes and in her voice ; " I 
can do nothing in it. It is not my fault that 
your wretched over-driven old horse fell 
down, and that the rickety, worn-out cab was 
upset. All T can do is to pay you a shilhng. 
I don't believe you're entitled to anything. 
Your horse and cab were quite unfit for use. 
You ought not to have offered to drive me ; 
besides, I took you from St. James's Street, 
and this is only the beginning of the 

" Ye took me from Q^ueer Street and have 
brought me to Short's Gardens^ that's what 
ye've done, drat ye," said Cabby, growing 
very red and very angry, as he began to sus- 
pect that the solitary, leaden-looking shilling, 
now grown quite hot in his hand, and which 
had come, not out of a fidl purse, but from 
poor Lucy's mended glove, was all she had, 
and therefore all he should get. 

" I shall pay you nothing more," said Lucy, 
roused by his insolence and menacing air. 


" Well, ye're a fine article, you are, to ride 
in cabs — ain't ye ? drat ye !" 

" You deserve to be had up for insolence 
and extortion," said Lucy, very pale, but 
fairly roused to anger; " and I shall certainly 
take your number." 

" I wish ye may get it, but I shan't help 
ye to it !" retorted Cabby, groTvdng very 
brutal. " I wish I'd never set eyes on ye, ye 
beggarly, owdacious " 

But at this crisis, while Lucy, pale as 
death, her eyes distended and her heart 
beating wildly, was shrinking from the fist 
Cabby had clenched to intimidate, but not 
to strike her, Cecil Sydney and Harry Greville 
came to her rescue. 

" What is the matter ?" said Cecil, with a 
voice and manner of the gentlest deference : 
*' can / be of any use ?" 

" This cabman is insulting and threatening 
me," replied Lucy, her eyes on the ground, 
" because I will not, indeed cannot, pay him 


more than his fare. He seems to expect me 
to be at the expense of repairing his cab and 
replacing liis horse, because I was so un- 
fortunate as to be inside when they broke 

" Lord love ye, gentlemen," said Cabby 
(his tone quite altered now that he had men 
to deal with — men, too, whom his quick, 
practised eye recognized as what he called 
"tip-top swells, up to snufF, and that know'd 
what's what, and who's who"), "that's 
all her fancy like. I ain't no such fool. All 
I *spected was, that the lady 'd stand a trifle ; 
just a pot o' beer or so, seeing this have 
happened in her sarvice like, and through 
obKgmg of she. For I knowed my 'oss wor 
done up, I don't say no otherways, only she 
seemed so eager to get in, and looked so 
pitiful at mc — I never could bear to baulk a 
^ fee-male, as some can, cuss their '[ird 'arts — 
and so I trusted in prow idcncc, and ye see 
the upshot of that 'ere ; but as to threatcnin' 


or imposin' upon a fee-male, 'taint likely — 
Tm quite t'other way ! Anybody as knows 
me, will tell ye my character." 

" Well," said Sydney, seeing clearly 
through Cabby — indeed, having overheard 
his attack on Lucy — but wishing to appear 
to the poor girl both ignorant of the case and 
very simple and amiable, and, above all, 
anxious to put her under an obligation, 
" here's half-a-crown, I suppose that will 
mend matters, won't it ?" 

" If not, here's another," said Henry 
Greville, who had not heard all that had 
passed, and rather pitied Cabby, who seemed, 
like himself, the victim of a relentless 
destiny ; and who, while Cecil had been 
watching through the glass door Lucy and 
her driver, had been flirting with a pretty 
" counter-chQiimeT" in the shape of a young 
pastrycook, who was much struck with both 
our beaux. 




Poor Lucy was annoyed beyond measiu'e 
at the obligation thus forced upon her. She 
looked up to express her disapprobation of 
the reward just conferred on an abusive ex- 
tortioner, and in so doing she recognized the 
two handsome, rather sarcastic faces of the 
young loungers, whose approach in St. James's 
Street had driven her into that very cab. 

A feeling of intolerable annoyance and 
confusion overcame her. Cabby, hi higli 
glee, departed, and Lucy considered herself 

VOL. I. F 


five shillings in debt to two men who had 
cruelly annoyed her, and caused the very 
accident that might have made her a cripple 
for life — five shillings in debt to them for 
feeing the wretch who had first upset, and 
then threatened, insulted and abused her ! 

The anger she felt was legible in her face. 
Cecil, perceiving it with inward exultation, 
yet said, mournfully — 

" Don't be angry with us for ridding you, 
even at the price of a trifling douceur (very 
ill-deserved, I own), of the presence of that 
brute. You, of course, can know little of 
the race of London Cabbies. I know them 
well, and quite dread to see a cabman ^ 
open his lips in the presence of a lady. Had 
you been my sister," he added, with quick 
tact, I should have acted just as "I have 

" I," said Greville, " really felt for the poor 
fellow, who must be half ruined by this 
smash. If Cabby sometimes imposes on us, 


his employers are always cruelly exacting 
to him." 

" Will you not take anything ? Let me 
recommend a cup of coffee," said Cecil to 
Lucy, very respectfully. 

" Oh, no, no, thank you !" replied poor 
Lucy, and with good reason : Cabby had 
carried off her only shilling. 

" I meant rather on account of the people 
of the shop than your own," said Sydney. 
" Do allow me to order something," 

" Perhaps you will do so for yourself," 
replied Lucy. " My object is to get home at 
once," she added, blushing scarlet. '' Many 
thanks, gentlemen. Good day." 

"You must allow us to see you sale 
home," urged Cecil. 

"Oh, by no means," replied Lucy; and, 
seizing the old umbrella, she darted out of 
the room, through the shop, into the street. 

" We shall be back in half an hour," said 
Sydney, very softly, going close up to tlie 

F 2 


pretty, jaunty patissiere, who was all bows 
and bugles, coquetry and crinoline ; " have 
some soup ready for us, my dea' child ! I 
suppose you know you're unkammon pretty. 
You're a regular nut-brown maid." 

" I'm sure, sir, I thought just now you'd 
no hies but for hauburn 'air." 

** Courtiser la brune et la blonde, 
Aimer voltiger au hazard,'* 

hummed Cecil, saucily, trying to snatch a kiss, 
and receiving, we rejoice to say, a sound slap 
on the face. " Come, don't be a vixen, there's 
a good girl. Don't take liberties." 

" You keep your place, sir, and I'll keep 
mine," she rephed, " and the next time I see 
the hauburn beauty, which I often has a chat 
with her," she added, ready at fibbing, " I'll 
tell her something." 

" Tell me all about her, do, there's a dear 

" Come, Cecil !" cried Greville. 


" Well, when I come back, will ye ?" urged 

The belle patissiere smiled and nodded. 

As they left the shop, a ragged urchin came 
up to them and said, " Ain't you the gentle- 
men as was with the lady as was throwed out 
o' the cab ?" 

" Yes, my boy ; what of her ?" answered 

" Why, I zeed a cove pick her pocket just 
as you tooked her in there ! I can swear I 
zeed a bit o' worked muslin, vat ve calls a 
viper, and a sniffin -bottle, and some papers in 
hees fist." 

" Papers !" thought Sydney ; " I should 
like to see any papers of hers. Well," he 
said to the boy, " here's half a sovereign, and 
if you bring the stolen goods to this address," 
giving him a card, " you shall have a wliole 
one besides. But, confound it, Greville ! we 
shall miss her now, if we do not make haste. 
A fine start these delays with the girl insid 


and the boy out have given her. Isn't she 
lovely, Hal ? What hair ! what eyes ! what 
a swan throat! and yet I do beUeve that 
' splendid shilHng' was all she had in the 
world. Is she not an angel?" 

" Cecil," answered his companion, "if you 
think so, leave her as she is. Your pursuit is 
sure to injure, and may ruin her." 

" I will know where she lives, Harry. I 
don't see her ; do you ?" 

" I don't wan't to see her, and I msh ^ou 
would never see her again. Listen to me, 
Cecil. Spare her !" 

" Spare yourself any trouble on that head. 
I'll know where she lives, and who and what 
she is ; and then I'll make up my mind as to 
her fate." 

The coxcomb ! He felt sure Lucy Blair's 
fate was in his hands. 

"How she must have sped along! Look down 
all the streets. I lost so much time talking 
to that bedizened dandizette and that ragged 


imp, I declare we've lost her. I'd rather have 
lost my bay mare, though she did win the cup 
at Ascot." 

By this time they had reached Arundel 
Street, having hurried along at a wonderful 
pace for them ; since " fast men" are generally 
very slow on foot. They looked down its 
dark, narrow length, when a respectable 
young woman, apparently a milhner or dress- 
maker, came up to them, and said — 

" Are you the gentlemen that helped a young 
lady out of a cab that was upset just now ?" 

" Yes," said Cecil, eagerly ; " what's her 
name ?" 

" Never mind that," was the reply ; " her 
compliments, and she sends you this." So 
saying, she thrust a little paper parcel hito 
Sydney's hand, and, while he opened it, 
tripped across the Strand, and disappeared. 

" Done, by Jove !" said Sydney. " Look 
here — two half-crowns, and ' With many 
thanks !' " 


" One's mine," said Hal, " and I could ill 
afford to part with it." So, laughingly, he 
seized it, and thrust it into his waistcoat- 
pocket. *' I say, Cis, what a do !'* 

" She has done me brown — little baggage !" 
said Cecil. 

" Well, it is a sell," answered Greville ; 
"but, upon my word, I'd much rather you 
were done than that poor girl undone. Now 
for the soup 1 — come along !" 




Labour gives rest all its charm ; and of all 
labours we should imagine that teaching most 
requires long and entire rest. " Sweet is plea- 
sure after pain" — sweet the repose of the poor 
daily governess, as night draws near, and she 
sinks down in an arm chair in her quiet 
apartment, and exclaims, " I'm at home, I'm 
at home, and the teacher is free !" 

Relieved from the toils and trials of tlic 
day, sat Lucy Blair on one side of tlio fire, 
while her mother occupied the other, aucl 


positively feasted her eyes in gazing on her 
rescued treasure : for though some days had 
elapsed since the events of the last chap- 
ter, thos3 events were still fresh in that fond 
mother's thoughts. 

"Oh, my dear child," said Mrs. Blair, 
" may I never know such another day as last 
Thursday ! Had your absence been pro- 
tracted but a few minutes longer, I really think 
the agony of my mind would have destroyed 
my reason !" 

" You must not be fearful about me, 
mamma,'' answered Lucy ; " circumstances 
have rendered me prematurely old and cau- 
tious. I am now experiencing what we read 
in Dr. Johnson to-day, at the Hamilton Tre- 
hernes', is one of the decided symptoms of 
age— ^viz., ' pleasure from the mere absence of 
pain.' Were I as young as my register would 
make out, I should be pining for excitement — 
for plays, balls, and parties ; instead of which, 
I would not at this moment exchange places 


with the most popular * belle of the 
season/ " 

" But your philosophy, my Lucy," said Mrs. 
Blair, " does not prevent my coveting for 
you the pleasures and advantages other girls 
enjoy ; and I own, I fear, that th^ profession 
you have, in your devotion for me, adopted, 
may shut you out not only from all society, 
but prevent your marrying in that rank of 
life to which, in spite of our poverty, you by 
birth belong." 

"Well, mamma," rejoined Lucy, "you 
know the lady who lives on the first floor 
here — Mrs. Green Brown — kindly intends 
taking me to the Olympic to-night. We arc 
to see that great genius, of whom Mr. Allgood 
spoke in such raptures, Mr. F. Robson, in 
Plot and FassioUy and in the Porter's Knot — 
in both, they say, his humour is of that true 
kind which is half pathos — and that he makes 
one laugh and cry at pleasure. Think what 
a treat that will be ! And as for adniii'ers, 


surely I bad enough of them last week. The 
breaking down of that crazy old cab raised 
me to the envied position of the heroine of 
romance. How I wish you could have seen the 
knights-errant who took part in my rescue !" 

"I hopei may see them some day," said Mrs. 
Blair, " I shall be very much sm^rised if I do 
not. Having beheld you once, they'll manage 
to get formally introduced to me, I'm sure." 

" I hope not, mamma. I hate and despise 
them, and, from the bold and mischievous 
expression of their countenances, I was dis- 
posed to think them, in some degree, the 
cause of my accident. However, I must 
acquit them of that. Mesmer himself could 
not enable an evil eye to upset a cab." 

This remark was followed by the entrance 
of the supper-tray. Lucy declared she enjoyed 
the light evening repast shared with her dear 
mother much more than the plentifid early 
dinner served up in Belgrave Square. 

"■ But I should relish anything this evening," 


said the poor girl, " my heart is so light and 
joyous with the prospect of its morrow ; for 
you must know you are to have me with you 
the whole day. Louisa Treherne is eight 
years old to-morrow; and to celebrate her 
birthday the children are all to drik^e in their 
mamma's carriage to the Crystal Palace, 
leaving me to enjoy my delicious freedom. 
This ray of sunshine was preceded by a 
black cloud, mamma; I will give you the 
particulars. Had you been present you 
would have smiled to see how completely my 
struggle with a hard, grasping world is con- 
quering my natural timidity. I was just pre- 
paring to equip myself for my walk home, 
and the children had left the room, when 
Lady Hamilton Treherne entered. Her man- 
ner was far from cordial ; but slie was much 
more civil than she used to be before that 
memorable demelc in her own bedroom, on 
that wettest of wet days — " 

" When, havhig so heartlessly called you a 


' damp stranger/ you acted up to the character 
by putting a damper on her impertinence," 
laughed Mrs. Blair. 

" Yes, mamma, after a little conversation 
about her children's deportment, she said to 
me, very caftlessly. Tray remember, Miss Blair, 
to-morrow is a holiday.' My heart beat high 
with the thought of spending it with you, 
mamma. But a thorough revulsion of feeling 
followed, when Lady Hamilton Treherne 
added, ' Tell your friends at home not to ex- 
pect you till nine in the evening. My children 
have invited several young companions, and 
supposing you or some such person were not 
here, the riot and confusion that would prevail 
throughout the day would be quite intolerable. 
I am sure my nerves could not stand it for half 
an hour. You, of course, understand all that 
sort of thing, and are used to it. Besides, I 
consider the instruction of the play-hour as 
important as that of the lesson -time.' ' I 
will not presume to dispute that point, my 


lady,' I quietly replied (determined to rival 
her coolness) ; ' but you will, perhaps, have 
the goodness to recollect that what you now 
requu'e, formed no part of our agreement. I 
undertook to direct and control your children 
in their studies, not in their recreations. Still, 
I am far from being indifferent to the comfort 
of my employers ; and though the task of re- 
straining boisterous young people dming 
hours of recreation is far from pleasant, I 
will give you my best services to-morrow for 
the usual period of my attendance in your 

house ; but my mother's health is quite ' 

* And pray. Miss Blair,' interposed Lady 
Hamilton Treherne, rudely interrupting me — 
(egotists, however highly born and bred, are 
unconsciously rude ; and she is the queen of 
egotists) — 'what am I to do with the children 
during the whole of the afternoon ? I ex- 
pected more gentleness, kindness, and con- 
sideration from you. I can assure you that, 
at your age, such decision of character and 


such self-possession are far from attractive. I 
can dispense with your services altogether for 
to-morrow ; and I shall send the whole birth- 
day party to the Crystal Palace/ " 

" A sensible determination, too," said Mrs. 
Blair, who would have applauded any plan 
that would have procured for her her Lucy's 

" Yet, would you believe it, mamma ?" said 
her daughter, " my heart smote me for re- 
fusing Lady Hamilton Treherne's request, 
unreasonable though it was ; and it was the 
thought of you, and, to be frank, of the visit 
to the Olympic, that prevented my offering 
to remain with her children the whole day ! 
I am very glad I did not do so : I dare say I 
should have had a scornful answer; but it 
is difficult to a kind heart to refuse, and to 
woman to say no." 

How calm and sweet was the slumber of 
the young governess after her day of toil. 
Ye belles of the season, ye might envy it, 


believe me. Own it frankly, you never feel 
quite satisfied with all the incense offered to 
your vanity. There is still the gnawing, 
aching void : What though you have refused 
your baronet, one of your acquaintances has 
a chance of a baron. But grant you are the 
favoured one, the belle of the season. Grant 
that the rays of the midsummer sun shine on 
you through the windows of St. George's, 
Hanover Square, and illumine the jewels and 
orange-flowers that adorn you as the bride of 

the Duke of . Grant all this ; but also 

grant that next spring a new star must arise, 
a younger beauty, another " belle of the sea- 
son ;" and if all your happiness consisted in 
monopolising admiration, soon we must rather 
pity than envy you. 

Take comfort, ye who are nobly struggling 
against misfortune in the humblest walks of 
life: only persevere. Your object is good 
and legitimate, and you cannot labour in vain; 
and when you succeed, your success shall 

VOL. I. G 


satisfy you fully ; but the triumphs of vanity 
never yet satisfied any human heart. 

Thus, while our heroine sleeps, we have 
indulged in a little moralising, and endeavoured 
to show the vanity of vanity. Let us not be 
misunderstood. Virtue may be found and 
duty performed in every class ; therefore, in 
every class we may be happy : and that the 
fashionable world may be made the arena of 
virtuous and noble actions, we trust the de- 
velopment of this tale will prove. 




Lucy did not tell her mamma everything. 
But this reserve was owing not to want of 
confidence, but an excess of love. Mrs. Blair's 
health was very delicate ; she had once broken 
a blood-vessel, and since that time Lucy had 
dreaded for her mother the effect of any 
shock or anxiety ; she therefore withheld all 
that could distress or alarm. Fortunately she 
had as yet no secrets of the heart, no love 
sorrows to conceal ; but when aught hap- 
pened to agitate or grieve her, she often kept 

G 2 


it to herself, lest she should increase the 
nervous timidity that weak health had super- 
induced in Mrs. Blair. One thing which she 
had withheld, as calculated only to disturb 
and mortify that dear, fond mother, was, the 
persevering but somewhat impertinent admi- 
ration of a fashionable middle-aged man whom, 
not to mystify our readers unnecessarily, 
we will at once own to be that very Sir Jasper 
Malvoisin, whose notice Cecil Sydney had so 
dreaded that the young daily governess might 
attract, when he was lounging in the bay 
window of his club, and she passing up or 
down St. James's Street, on what errand 
Cecil Sydney knew not. But, as the Italian 
proverb says — " Che sara sara" (what is to be 
wiU. be). Lucy Blair, after the adventure of 
the cab, never returned by St. James's Street. 
At 9 A.M. she felt safe from idlers, but at 
2 p.M it was another matter. She never on 
her return passed through St. James's Street, 
and thus Cecil Sydney watched for her in 


vain. But, as ill-luck would have it, Sir 
Jasper Malvoisin was an habiUie of Lady 
Hamilton Treherne's ; a sort of Platonic lover 
or cavalier of her ladyship's, who, as Sir 
George Haaiilton Treherne was one of the 
invisible London husbands, accepted his 
escort and encouraged his attentions. It was 
one of those countless liaisons in which man's 
idleness, meeting with woman's vanity, en- 
genders intimacy without esteem, flirtation 
without preference, flattery, on both sides, 
without admiration ; and in which les petits 
soins of the man, and the jealous, exacting 
nature of the woman, make the world talk, 
although there was, in reality, nothhig to talk 

One day that Sir Jasper had to escort 
Lady Hamilton Treherne to a dejeilner at 
some distance, he met Lucy Blair on X\\v. 
steps of the mansion in ik'lgrave Square. 
He thought her beautiful, and tried to make 
his eyes tell her so. He found out from her 


pupils, the Misses Hamilton Treherne, all 
about her. He waylaid her again and again, 
he accosted, he persecuted her, until at last 
she threatened him with the police, and then 
his passion for her grew dangerous, for it was 
darkened by revenge. 

Nor was this the only annoyance Lucy had 
riot revealed to her mother. She had another 
source of trouble in the uneasiness which the 
persevering and curious scrutiny of a httle 
elderly man had occasioned her soon after her 
engagement with the Trehernes had com- 
menced. The old stranger had first made 
her the object of his remark as she sat oppo- 
site to him in an omnibus that was conveying 
her to Paternoster Row, whither she was 
going in quest of a book that her pupils re- 

This inquisitive neighbom-'s eyes were not 
the only ones fixed on Lucy, but certainly his 
alone gazed on her malignantly. 

On this occasion our heroine's attire was 


remarkably simple, but it did not diminish 
the effect of her beauty. Her soft violet eyes 
were as heavenly, her rippled braids as 
bright, and the glow on her cheek as rich as 
though her form were clad in the wealth of 
the loom. 

Lucy had no attendant or duenna. There 
were none to take care of her, save " the 
viewless angels that protect the good ;" and 
while West End affected spinsters of sixty 
would not walk a hundred yards without a 
powdered giant, armed with a club, behind 
them, and a barking cur at their sides, Lucy, 
in all her attractive youth and loveliness, had 
to pace the thronged streets of London alone, 
and often to avail herself of its crowded con- 

Our heroine was anything but nervous, 
and with a mhid intent on her duties, she 
generally felt safe. 

The Paternoster Row expedition seemed 
likely to shake her security, yet she hardly 


knew why the persevering scrutiny of her 
opposite neighbour should alarm her as much 
as it certainly did. 

She had read of the terrors of young 
scapegraces when creditors appeared in view 
— but she had no creditors ; enemies pursue 
lis with untiring malignity — she had no 
enemies. However, we must own there was 
something alarmingly repulsive in the very 
diminutive old man with whom she found 
herself in such close contact. His appear- 
ance called to mind some mischievous mar- 
moset. This likeness w^as partly owing to his 
mummy- coloured skin, and his little twink- 
ling eyes, one of which had a most refulgent 
squint. His face had an ape-like contoui^ and 
his upper and under Hp bulged out fright- 
fully, in consequence of an ill-made set of 
bluish porcelain teeth. These he had cheap- 
ened from a Jew dentist, and obtained at less 
than cost price, as they were a misfit ! 

They had been made for a much larger 


man, but the plausible dentist had declared 
that a little filing would render them per- 
fectly suitable, and the 'cheapness of the 
article was a temptation too great to be 

The wearer of this desirable bargain had 
evidently taken some little pains with his 
toilet. His linen was clean and well got up, 
and not a speck of dust could be seen on his 
old black suit. 

Lucy, who had a keen sense of the original 
and the ludicrous, would have noted his pe- 
culiarities with some interest (as worthy of 
a place in her olio of oddities), but for the 
spiteful scrutiny with which he continued to 
regard her. 

Her uneasiness became serious when she 
beheld him deliberately put on a pair of 
spectacles, and taking out a note-book and 
pencil, jot down Avhat she felt certain must 
be particulars about herself, from the glances 
he shot at her during the operation. 


While all this was taking place, she per- 
ceived that the rumbling conveyance had just 
passed Paternoster Row. She was close to 
the conductor, whose attention she had no 
difficulty in arresting. He had an eye for 
beauty as well as his superiors, and with 
national good nature he had felt for Lucy's 
embarrassment, and even discovered the cause 
of it. 

In an instant he took his fare, stopped the 
driver, and assisted Lucy to alight. To her 
horror, she perceived her old tormentor fol- 
lowing her. 

Lucy was determined to baffle him. Re- 
gardless of carts, cabs, and carriages, she shot 
across the street, and proved the truth of the 
old adage, " Fortune favours the brave," by 
reaching Paternoster Row in safety. 

A moment's delay sometimes decides om- 
prospects in life. 

The old man looked before he leaped, or 
rather slipped. Still his eagerness was so 


great that he started too soon. His foot 
sHpped, and he would soon have been under 
the wheel of a heavy carriage but for the 
timely assistance of an Irish basket-woman, 
who suddenly dragged him to safety and the 

" Now what do ye vally yer old self at ?" 
said Molly O'Cree ; " for divil a bid of ye 
had been lift by this time but for myself that 
spakes to ye ; so out with yer gold, for Tm in 
a reg'lar hurry to drink to yer honour." 

"The devil take me if I give you a 
farthing!" said the old man, vainly endea- 
vouring to jostle his way through the crowd 
this adventure had collected. 

" The divil will have ye, whether or no !" 
cried the angry daughter of Erin ; " but it 
shan't be till ye have paid me my fair 

" That's right, old girl !" was lieard from 
one of the bystanders. 

Thus encouraged, Molly laid her powerfid 


hand on the shrivelled shoulder of the de- 
linquent, who (like many a better man) called 
vainly for the pohce. 

" ril police ye, ye ugly old sinner !" shouted 
Molly. " Here's what comes of such as you 
running after the gals, when ye ought to be 
telling yer beads, or thinking of your latter 

*' Hold your tongue, you vile hag !" said 
the old man, who evidently did not relish her 
discourse. " Loose your cursed hold of me, 
and I'll give you all I've got about me." 

" There — that's fair !" was heard from the 
crowd ; so Molly, with the quick perception 
of her country, seeing that the public voice 
would uphold her no further, was fain to 
content herself with a croAvn-piece, and to 
allow the discomfited swain to slink off as 
best he could. 

In the meantime Lucy had rushed from 
Paternoster Row, and taken the first street 
that led to St. Paul's Chm'chyard. Thence 


she proceeded to Ludgate Hill, and after 
various crossings, doublings, and tiu'nings, 
found herself quite unmolested in Bridge 
Street, Blackfriars. When she thought the 
old man's patience must be quite exhausted, 
she walked leisurely back, and executed her 

That the cause of her flight had not been 
fatally injm-ed by Molly's severity, was proved 
by his re-appearance a few days afterwards. 

Lucy happened to be in Holborn, and she 
caught an unwelcome glimpse of him^ as he 
was seated in a cab, with a large blue bag by 
his side. No glance of recognition kindled 
in his httle grey eyes ; for this time Lucy was 
travelhng in the thorough disguise of a 
double brown gossamer veil. 

She soon began to attach little importance 
to the event that had alarmed her so much at 
the time, and the more stirring adventures of 
the cab accident almost obliterated it from 
her memory. 


The fashionable heroes who had played the 
part of her deliverers re-appeared in her 
dreams. Perhaps Henry Greville played the 
most conspicuous part ; but when she awoke 
on the welcome morning of her holiday, she 
thought of him with a smile, and not with a 




" Your mamma begs you'll not get up yet, 
miss," said Betty Botherem, as she stood 
knocking at Lucy's door ; " Mrs. Blair means 
to see to the breakfast herself, and hopes 
you'll have another nap." 

We are bound to confess that Lucy was 
nothing loth. 

Our great Duke was of opinion that, when 
one thought of turning round, it was time to 
turn out. Perhaps he was right ; but I dare 
say some of my readers will agree with me 


that very sweet sleep may be enjoyed after 
day has dawned, and we ourselves have been 
fully cognisant of the fact. 

At any rate Lucy's extra nap did her no 
hami, and she appeared in the sitting-room 
(about an hour and a half after Betty's 
message), looking as blooming as if she had 
spent the whole night in beauty-sleep. 

A little surprise had been prepared for 
Lucy by her mother. The breakfast-table 
was laid with the greatest care, and marma- 
lade, shrimps, chocolate and watercresses were 
added to the usual bill of fare. 

Betty Botherem, w^ho had actively assisted 
Mrs. Blair in preparing the impromptu treat, 
stood at the door for a few minutes, with eyes 
and mouth wide open, to enjoy Lucy's 

" You have been tiring your dear self," said 
the affectionate girl. " AVhy have you pre- 
pared such a feast as this? To have your 
company at breakfast was quite sufficient for 


me ; and now I can enjoy none of these nice 
things unless you partake of them with a 
good appetite. 

"I shall do justice to the breakfast to- 
day," said Mrs. Blair, " for I feel unusually 
well and cheerful. I think I see the means 
of your giving up your too irksome situation 
in Belgrave Square. The insolence of Lady 
Hamilton Treherne is so trying to a girl of 
your sensibility." 

" But perhaps I shall find things still more 
trying in another family. I had rather ' bear 
the ills I have, than fly to others that I know 
not of.' " 

" Now don't be obstinate, Lucy. Look at 
this," said Mrs. Blair, taking up a newspaper. 
*' The lady who inserted this advertisement 
seems to have had you in view, so exactly are 
the requirements those that you possess. It 
is a curious coincidence that the first morning 
of my taking in The Times I shoukl meet 



with such an advertisement as this. Read it 

Lucy immediately complied. 

" ' Wanted — A daily governess, for the 
only daughter of a lady residing at a short 
distance from London. Three hours' attend- 
ance would be expected, and, as various ac- 
complishments and much refinement are 
required, a liberal salary would be given. 
Address G. K., Post Office, St. James's 
Street.' If I secure this situation, mamma,'' 
exclaimed Lucy, "I am determined you shall 
not remain in these small, dark lodgings, but 
take cheerful and airy ones in some nice part 
of London. By a liberal salary they cannot 
mean less than a hundred a year. I shall 
answer G. K. directly after breakfast. But 
now do let us talk a little about my good 
luck in outwitting my tormentors of Thurs- 
day last. Some fortunate accident must have 
detained them at the pastrycook's, for I got 
such a good start of them that they lost sight 


of me. On turning down Arundel Street, I 
caught a glimpse of them in the distance, so 
I ran to this door, Avhich luckily I found 
open. Miss Smart had just received her 
money for a dress brought home to Mrs. 
Green Brown. In a few words I told her 
how I was placed, described the gentlemen 
and their whereabouts. She felt quite sure 
she should recognise them, and she offered to 
go that very moment and pay them, as from 
me. I have seen her since, and she tells me 
she soon met them, gave them the money, 
and baffled all their endeavours to find out 
my name and abode." 

" How strange it would be if you were to see 
them to-night at the play," said Mrs. Blair. 
" You know my presentiments have a meaning, 
and I have a sort of impression that one of 
them is destined to be your partner for life." 

" May my good sense forbid, mamma ; I 
hate coxcombs even for acquaintances — one 
of them for a husband would drive me crazy. 

H 2 


But now let us think of something important. 
How ought I to be dressed to-night ? I re- 
collect when my singing-master gave us 
tickets for the theatre at Tours we went in 
our best walking-dresses." 

" That would not do in London," said Mrs. 
Blair : " I am told by Mrs. Bragge that for the 
private boxes of the Olympic, you must adorn 
yourself as for a grand evening party. The 
white-sprigged net and sky-blue velvet trim- 
mings that you wore at your dancing-master's 
ball at Dieppe are exactly suited to the occa- 
sion. Now, dear, ring and have the breakfast 
things removed; and while you answer the 
advertisement I will go out and procure 
for you some little things that are quite neces- 
sary to enable you to make a nice appear- 

Mrs. Green Brown, the lady on the first 
■floor, had also determined to shine at the 
Olympic on this memorable evening. She 
had engaged a private box, and ordered a 


handsome brougham (not, as she said laugh- 
ingly, a Hansom cab). 

Lucy's answer to the promising advertise- 
ment was written, sealed, stamped, and posted 
before Mrs. Blair returned with her purchases. 

At these Lucy gazed with tears in hei- 
eyes, for she knew how many comforts her 
mother must deny herself in consequence of 
this expense, Avhich she could so ill afford. 

Lucy had first to admire ribbons and blue- 
bells, which her clever fingers Avere to form 
into a fashionable and becoming head-dress. 
White kid gloves were not forgotten, and 
these Mrs. Blair could not get cheap, because 
only the small sizes Avould fit Lucy, and they 
always keep up their price. But one real 
bargain had been secured by the fond mother 
—a white merino opera cloak, lined with blue 
silk, for sixteen shillings ! 

Mrs. Green Brown soon awoke Lucy to ;i 
sense of the importance of punctuality by .1 
message, begging that slie would dress early. 


as the carriage was to be at the door at half- 
])ast six. 

Betty Botherem was in a state of great 
excitement, and made so many mistakes and 
had so many accidents that the house was in 
a tumult. 

Lucy, however, was too happy to be irritable. 
Shut up in her little back bedroom, she rapidly 
completed the head-dress. The next business 
was to iron out the many-skirted white net dress. 

In an instant Betty was at hand to procm-e 
it from a high shelf, in which it had been 
placed in a box to itself. 

Now, as she could not detach her eyes and 
tlioughts from the flowers in Lucy's hand, her 
footing on the chair which was to enable her 
to reach the box became very insecure, and 
down she came, chair, box, and all, and with 
her a shower of London blacks ! 

All this, in spite of Lord Palmerston's 
having ordered that every chimney should 
consume its own smoke ! 


Betty occasioned most of the mishaps of 
the day. At one time she set her cap on fire 
while holding the candle to Mrs. Blair, who 
had to adjust Lucy's head-dress. At an- 
other (in her eagerness to be useful) she 
stepped on the tail of Mrs. Green Brown's 
pet pug, which animal immediately set up 
the most hideous howls. 

Lucy's heart smote her as she called to 
mind the ])retty poem of the " Maiden and 
the Crushed Butterfly." 

" Ah, such," she exclaimed, " is our pride 
in our faces, for Avhich the soul's happiness 
too often dies." 

Mrs. Blair's most sanguine expectations 
were realized, and Almack's, in its pahny 
days, never welcomed within its halls a love- 
lier belle than the ])oor daily governess, as 
she sat smiling ami li''ipj)y, awaiting the 
summons of Mrs. Green i^i-own and the arrival 
of the brougham. 




Mrs. Green Brown was a person of im- 
mense importance in lier OAvn eyes, and in 
those of the mistress and maid at No. 9, 
Arundel Street, where she not merely occu- 
pied, but seemed to fill to overflowing, the 
first floor. 

In all London houses, let out as lodgings, 
" the first floor" takes as indisputable a pre- 
cedence as does the Speaker in the House of 
Commons, or the Commander-in-Chief on the 
field of battle. 


" Knowledge is power," was said of old ; 
but tliat MONEY IS POWER is a far more widely- 
acknowledged fact ; and of course the gene- 
ral impression is that the first-floor lodger is, 
in every sense, the best off. That being the 
case, every one tries to make that fortunate 
individual better off still. 

He or she may have a " man" or a " maid" 
with nothing to do but his or her bidding, 
but still the maid-of-all-work will leave the 
" parlours" without common necessaries, and 
be equally neglectful of the " second-floor" 
in order to administer to the luxuries and 
superfluities of the revered " first floor." 

Lucy Blair's abode formed no excei)tion to 
this universal custom. Mrs. Green Brown 
had a maid of her own ; but yet Betty de- 
voted more time to the " first floor" than to all 
the rest of the house ])ut together ; for Mrs. 
Mincing, Mrs. Green Brown's maid, was herself 
a very fine lady, with " narves," and of roursc 
required a great deal of waiting on herself. 


Mrs. Bragge, the good-natured landlady of 
the house, was a widow, immensely fat, always 
dressed in black bombazeen and a widow's 
cap. She adhered to short waists and gigot 
sleeves. She was born in this very lodging- 
house some sixty-six years before the opening 
of om' tale. The tenement had belonged to 
her parents, who left it to her, and she, 
when forty-eight, married a showy, handsome, 
scheming fellow called Bragge (a parlour 
lodger of hers), who would probably have 
speculated away all her own and her parents' 
savings, but before they had been married a 
year (but not before he had given her a black 
eye or two) he was blown up in a house in 
which he was trying a new machine for clean- 
ing chimneys with fulminating silver. Betty 
pronounced it "good riddance of bad rub- 
bish," and the only " weepers " were those on 
his widow's blaek bombazeen. 

She was a character in her way, this 
Mrs. Bragge ; a London lodging-letter born 


and bred, and yet neither a thief, a canter, nor 
a vixen, but a good, kind soul, with a few 
vanities, but no vices to speak of. 

She took a great pride in her lodgers, in 
Mrs. Green Brown especially, who had lodged 
at No. 9 for many years, off and on, but 
always retained the first floor ; and the first 
floor was three guineas a week in the season, 
and two out of the season. 

Now Mrs. Bragge had been told in confi- 
dence of Lucy's professional engagement ; 
but she, Mrs. Bragge, was in her secret heart 
a good deal ashamed that even her " second 
floor" should go out teaching, and a good 
deal touched by the contemplation of so much 
youth, beauty, and goodness engaged in what 
she considered such "contemptuous drudgery." 
She had a spice of Mrs. Malaprop in her com- 
position (all lodging-letters have). She was 
something of a match-maker too, and rather 
romantic, as her own silly match proved. And 
she thought and said, " Miss Blair ought to 


many to her carriage ;" and in her own mind, 
she decided the only way to effect so desirable 
an object was to get Mrs. Green Brown to no- 
tice and take her about. The august Mrs. 
Green Brown was very idle, and was of course 
a great gossip. She had no business of her 
own, and so she had plenty of time for other 
people's. Mrs. Bragge was an interminable 
jabberer. Mrs. Mincing had found out j\Iiss 
Blair's habit of going out at half-past eight 
and coming in at two ; and Mrs. Bragge, in 
order to account for this fact, without lower- 
ing her own dignity or the Blairs', had boldly 
announced to Mrs. Green Brown (but binding 
her the while, Mrs. Mincing also, to inviolable 
secrecy) that, owing to having been brought up 
abroad, the young lady's English education had 
been neglected, and she was obliged to go to 
a ladies' day school at some distance, to fit 
herself for the society in which she was one 
day to shine. This was believed, and bound 
by tlieir promise, neither Mrs. Green Brown 


nor Mincing could trouble Lucy with any 
questions on the subject. Mrs. Blair was, as 
we have seen, a singularly mexperienced, siin- 
ple-minded woman, brought up in the coun- 
try ; she had been married at seventeen, to 
one far above her in rank and beneath her in 
real worth. The marriage had been private ; 
the husband had soon ceased to be a lover' 
and rapidly degenerated into a brute. He 
was ordered abroad with his regiment (for he 
w^as in the army), and he left her behind en- 
ceinte, and so thoroughly disenchanted, that 
she was glad to be left behind. 

His noble family, who had some suspicions 
of this mesalliance, persecuted the poor young 
wife to such an extent, that when, after the birth 
of Lucy, no news or money arrived from her 
husband, in actual want and bound by him not 
to own the marriage to his friends, Mrs. Blair 
took counsel of a lawyer who had proposed to 
her before she had seen the man whom slie af- 
terwards married, and as, unknown to her, he 


was also the solicitor of the husband's family, 
she, by his advice, accepted a sum to take her 
and her child abroad, and an income sufficient 
to maintain them till she obtained a situation 
as a governess or teacher ; after which, if she 
troubled them no more, she was to receive 
forty pounds a year. Poor Mrs. Blair, at 
eighteen, did not see that her compliance jus- 
tified her husband's haughty family in consi- 
dering her in the light of his cast-off mistress. 
They insisted also that she should take the name 
of Blair, and never mention that of him she 
called her husband. But so cruel, so insult- 
ing, so brutal, indeed, had been, as a hus- 
band, the man who had seemed so enchanting 
and devoted as a lover, that, of all things, 
what she most dreaded was the faUing again 
into his power. 

With her former suitor. Attorney Twine 
(Gloss Twine, Esq.), she deposited the papers 
that proved her own marriage and Lucy's legi- 
timacy, and then she crossed the Channel 


and prepared to seek her fortunes. What 
fortunes she found the reader can guess by a 
glance at the second floor she Hves in, and 
her pretty Lucy setting forth as a daily 

We have reverted so far to the past, to explain 
and account for Mrs. Blair's total ignorance of 
the world and its ways. She knew little of life 
when she left Wales (a mother in her teens), 
and, in the seclusion of foreign convents 
and boarding-schools, she forgot even that 

But for this, she might not have been so 
wilHng to trust so beautiful and young a girl 
as Lucy with a woman of whom she knew 
nothing but what Mrs. Bragge could tell of 
her ; and, of course, ishe was loud in her 
praise of one who for years had rented her 
first floor furnished, [ind paid regulai'ly ; one 
who kept her own maid, and never Avent out 
but in a brougham ; one ^^ ho never hagi^l 



about coals, milk, washing, or extras of any 


kind — never wished to see joint or pudding 
twice, and never locked up tea or sugar. 

" A real lady bom and bred, and as good a 
soul as ever stepped." Such was Mrs. 
Bragge's testimony when Mrs. Green Brown 
retui'ned with Mincing from Brighton to take 
re-possession of her first floor, newly painted, 
papered, and done up ; and having exchanged 
a few nods and smiles with pretty Lucy, and 
talked about her for the hom^ with Mrs. 
Bragge, that lady invited her to go with her to 
the Olympic, in a private box she had secured, 
to see a new piece called " Tlie Porter's Knot',' 
with Mr. r. Robson as the principal character. 




" Mrs. Green Brown was not a widow — 
no such luck," said Mrs. Bragge; "her husband 
was abroad, which, abroad or at home, he was 
a selfish brute, and she a throwed-away angel." 
This was Mrs. Bragge's account. Mrs. Green 
Brown took little or no notice of Mrs. Blair ; 
she thought her a " dull, pale, moping sort ol' 
body ;" but she doted on beauty, of which 
she considered herself the ((uccn. Every 
pretty young girl was, in her opinion, only an 
attendant grace on herself, the Venus of the 

VOL. I. I 


picture ; or a rosebud, herself the ripened rose. 
She was a tall, very stout woman, of thirty-five, 
but owning only to "about thirty." She had 
been a Hebe in her youth, but her present pro- 
portions were scarcely reconcilable with beauty, 
at least in the opinion of all people of taste. 
In her own eyes, and those of Mrs. Bragge and 
Betty, as fine feathers make fine birds, and every 
season hers grew finer and finer, so she grew 
handsomer and handsomer ; besides, if " hand- 
some is that handsome does," she was hand- 
some indeed, as Betty's purse and wardi^obe 

We have said Mrs. Green Brown was tall 
and stout, and when full- dressed, what with 
her ample crinoline and voluminous flomices, 
she was of a very imposing size. 

Art never produced hair to surpass her 
perruque. Regardless of expense (having 
been remarkable in her youth for golden 
tresses), she had obtained a wig of hair as 
bright and even more abundant than that 


which had distrngiiished her at twenty. A 
regular coiffeicr dressed this splendid golden 
hair, in the newest fashion, when she went 
to the theatre. And the only people in the 
house who knew, for certain, that it was a wig 
were Mincing and the fair wearer herself. 
Lucy and Mrs. Blair had no idea of it. 

Of course, at thirty-five, Mrs. Green Brown 
might still have boasted of fine hair of her 
own, but the rufiian she had married had 
actually, in the Brazils, where he was the ty- 
rant of the remote estate on which they lived, 
in a fit of jealous rage caused her to be held 
down while her head was shaved and her front 
teeth drawn ! !* and this he had done because, 
in a foolish pet, she had reproached him with 
being bald and toothless, all but two eye-teeth, 
in either row, like tusks ! " Before niglit you 
shall be the same, madam !" he had exclahned ; 

* These acts of atrocious cruelty were committed in 
the Brazils by a husband who had not the dread of a 
Sir Cresswell Cresswcll before his eyes. 



and, at once summoning his slaves, had caused 
her long, splendid, abundant, golden hair to be 
shaved off, and her front teeth to be extracted, 
except the four eye-teeth. A long illness en- 
sued, and when the poor victim recovered, 
she effected her escape to England during 
the absence of her tyrant, and a very rich uncle 
received her, and at his death left her his fortune. 
The lilies and roses that in days of health 
and youth had matched this golden hair, art 
had reproduced, pearly teeth were admirably 
adjusted, and pearl powder and rouge were 
apparent to the experienced, though Lucy and 
her mother never dreamt of them. 

•' Her eyebrows, truth, 'twere vain to blink, 
Were partly made of Indian ink ; 
But oh ! has India aught too rare 
To lavish on a dame so fair .'" 

They were a clear, perfect arch, black and 
formal, and they gave an unnatm-al expression 
to a face of which the small features were em- 
bedded in embonpoint. 


Mrs. Green Brown held herself up with the 
dignity of a queen and the airs of a beauty. 
When the brougham and pair drove to the 
door, she sent to summon Miss Blair. Lucy 
found her seated in great state, on a crimson 
and gilt sofa. Her dress was a sky-blue glace, 
with three ample skirts trimmed with a pro- 
fusion of white bugle lace and looped up with 
pink roses ; her head-dress was composed of 
pink roses and white bugles ; her dress was 
cut very low, displaying an ample bust adorned 
with a necklace of turquoise and gold, and her 
veiy full arms had bracelets to correspond. A 
gorgeous burnouse opera cloak, of scarlet and 
gold, was held ready by Mincing, and she was 
also provided with a superb fan, smelling- 
bottle, bonbonniere, and richly embroidered, 
highly-scented pocket handkerchief. 

Mrs. Green Brown bowed to Lucy, who felt 
herself very insignificant and iiiuler-dressed, 
in the presence of so much splendour. " Give 
me another cup of tea, Mincing," she said ; 


"and pray, Miss Blair, Avill you take tea or 
coffee ? — we've plenty of time. I never care 
for the hoverturs — do you ? In course I ex- 
cept the hopera ?" 

" Yes, I do. I dote on fine music any- 
where !" 

" Oh, very well, then we'll start at once. 
Mincing, have I a pocket in this di*ess ?" 

" Yes, ma'am." 

" Have I any money in my purse ?" 
les, ma am. 

" Come, then. Miss Blair." She took a 
deliberate survey of herself in the chinmey- 
glass, then in a pier-glass, parting her vermi- 
lion lips, so as to see thewhole set of glittering, 
])early teeth ; arching her neck, gazing over 
her shoulder, and saying, " Mincing, I depend 
on you that I'm fit to be seen," she swept out 
of the room. 

Mrs. Green Brown was always rather 
aftected, haughty, and unpleasant after an 
elaborate toilet. Lucy had thought her so 


very smiling, affable, and amiable in her 
morning wrapper ; now she found her so dis- 
tant and self-engrossed, she was quite annoyed 
at the idea of a long evening with her. Lucy 
felt ready to cry as she kissed her hand in 
recognition of Mrs. Blair's pale face at the 
second-floor window. Mrs. Blair was sur- 
prised to see Lucy, the guest, in the back 
seat, but there was no room for her by the 
gorgeous side of the voluminous and superb 
Mrs. Green Brown : and with a little show 
of making room for Lucy, and a little sham 
reluctance, she allowed her to sit opposite to 
her, and they drove away, Mrs. Bragge ad- 
miring Mrs. Green Brown (not Lucy) from the 
parlour, Betty from the area, Mincing on the 
door-step. Several idle boys and busy-bodies 
were dazzled by the blue glace, l)ugles, and 
roses, and did not give a glance to })oor Lucy. 
Mrs. Blair, dreadfully fatigued, I'eturned to 
her now cold tea, and a stocking she was 




To Lucy's impatience to see, and her gor- 
geous chaperons eagerness to be seen, the 
progress through the Strand appeared a veiy 
slow one. The announcement of Mr. F. Rob- 
son's appearance in a new character, sufficed 
to bring to the doors of the Olympic many 
visitors of all ranks, even more than that 
elegant and favourite theatre could accommo- 

The first piece was " Plot and Passion," 
a piece unrivalled for deep plot and intense 


passion. Mr. Wigan as the enamoured Creole ; 
Mr. Emery as the cabii astute Fauche ; and 
Mrs. Sterling as the sentimental widow, 
were all admirable. But the gem of the piece 
was, after all, Mr. F. Robson, as the old 
clerk. He makes himself up (wdth a true 
artist's sacrifice of vanity to effect, and of 
his own good looks to his part) into a most 
sordid, ugly, mean old scrivener ; and yet the 
force of passion and eloquence is such that 
it seems impossible woman can hear his con- 
fession of love unmoved, and tears rise to 
every female eye, and sighs move every true 
w^oman's breast as he speaks. 

Lucy forgot, as did perhaps the great artist 
himself, that it was all a passing show, and 
leaning back in her chair, she, to the horror 
and surprise of Mrs. Green Brown, buried 
her face in her handkerchief, and wept bit- 
terly. What Mrs. Green Brown would have 
done and said, no one can tell, had slie not, 
in glancing restlessly round the house to see 


Avhether people were noticing her companion's 
emotion, perceived the beautiful young daugh- 
ter of the Duchess of S (whom she knew 

by sight) equally affected, and several other 
ladies of fashion and ion (Mrs. Green Brown 
was a worshipper of ton) pale and in 

Mrs. Green Brown then took out her oAvn 
costly handkerchief to conceal that she did 
not weep, and she became kinder in her 
manner to Lucy, which change was confirmed, 
when, the door being opened by an official of 
the theatre, with a tray of ices, Mrs. Green 
Brown perceived, behind the woman who 
ojBPered these refreshments, two very fashion- 
able-looking young men, who rather familiarly 
accosted Lucy, one of them, Cecil Sydney, 
proffering his hand in a manner which made 
it quite impossible for her (without great 
rudeness) to refuse her own. Lucy at a 
glance recognised her two tormentors. She 
wished to look grave and dignified, and make 


them feel that she resented as an intrusion 
their uninvited and unwelcome presence ; but 
the recollection of the accident, of the way in 
which she had escaped them, and the sight of 
Mrs. Green Brown casting affected glances 
and giving herself languishing airs at their 
approach, overcame her self-possession, and 
she could not help laughing. 

" Introduce me to your friends, dearest," 
said Mrs. Green Brown. ''Their faces are 
famiKar to me, but not their names." 

" Let me be master of the ceremonies," 
said Henry Greville, pitying Lucy's blushes 
and confusion. Then, turning to the elder 
lady, he added, " j\Iay I know whom I have 
the pleasure of addressing ?" 

" Mrs. Green Brown," said the lady. 

" Well, then, Mrs. Green Brown, allow me 
to introduce Cecil Sydney, second son of the 
Earl of Hauteville." (Greville saw at a glance 
that great names would impress Mrs, Green 
Brown in their favour.) 


"The Hon. Cecil Sydney, so often men- 
tioned in the Court Journal?'' said Mrs. 
Green Brown in ecstasy, and bowing low in 
answer to the cold, stiff bend of the beau in 
question — a mutilated bow peculiar to Young 
England and the nineteenth century, but 
enough to intoxicate Mrs. Green Brown ; for 
it was the first bow she had ever had from an 
Honourable, a son of an earl. She felt linked 
with the peerage directly. 

" Now return the compliment,'* said Henry 
Greville ; *' introduce me.'* 

" Mrs. Green Bro*\\m, allow me to introduce 
Mr. Henry Greville, son of the late Lord Oscar 
Greville, and grandson of the Marquis of 
Montferrat, an unpaid attache at the Bavarian 
Embassy, a distinguished ornament of Al- 
mack's, a member of all the best clubs ; in 
short, a man about to\ni. All he w^ants is 
a rich, handsome w4fe, w^ith charms to 
push him abroad, and yet keep liim at 


Mrs. Green Brown took this as a personal 
compliment, and said, '* Mr. Greville will have 
no difficulty in suiting himself, I should think; 
it's a great feather in his cap to be so 'ighly 

Mrs. Green Brown occasionally dropped 
her h's, but with an unconscious spirit of 
retributive justice, picked them up to add 
them where they were not due. Cecil ex- 
changed glances with Henry Grenville, who 
was pained to see Lucy start and blush to 
the very temples. 

" I am sure we have met before, sir,'' said 
Mrs. Green Brown to Cecil. "Were you 
never at the Lord Mayor's ?" 

"Oh— ah,— Yes—ah!" drawled Cecil. 

" Well, it might 'ave been there, or at 
Lady Tape's. Were you never at one of 
Lady Tape's grand ball and supper parties ?" 

" At Lady Tape's ? — ah — in Thread— 
needle-street?" said the sarcastic, but not 
witty, Cecil. 


" j^o ! But in Tavistock Square, a large 
corner 'ouse." 

" I think — ah — I have — ah — never — ah — 
had that honour," stammered Cecil. 

"Then, it must 'ave been at the Lord 

" Or at Cree—morne !" whispered Cecil 
Sydney to Greville. 

But, luckily, the curtain rose, and Mrs. 
Green Brown did not hear what she would 
certainly have resented, for she was very 
easily roused. 

Lucy did hear the insolent remark, and was 
stung by it. Harry Greville saw her eyes 
flash through their tears of wounded delicacy, 
and frowned angrily at the nonchalant^ inso- 
lent Cecil, who, uninvited, had taken a chair 
behind Lucy, and was playing with her fan, 
and snielhng her modest bunch of violets, 
leaning over her, and whispering to her. 

The painful, harrowing interest of the last 
act engrossed Lucy so entirely, that she foi'got 


the handsome coxcomb by her side, and his 
odious famiharity, and did not once raise her 
eyes to meet the pitying and intellectual glance 
of Henry Greville, who could not understand 
how so graceful, modest, and elegant a girl 
could be intimate with so showy a vulgarian 
as Mrs. Green Brown ; unless — and he shud- 
dered at the thought — she were the hired 
companion of that vain, gorgeous, and — to 
him — odious woman. 

The only thing that seemed to strike her 
in the whole drama was the improbability 
that so elegant a lady, in her fashionable dress, 
should not inspire the shabby old clerk with 
more awe. 

" I am sure, sir," she said to Ilavry Gre- 
ville, "when I'm well drest, which I call 
being well harmed, I wouldn't bow to an 
hemperor, much less to a beggar, or a beg- 
garly clerk !" 

" A queen might bow to such a beggar," 
said Lucy. 


"Well, it may be prejudice," said Mrs. 
Green Brown, " but I do 'ate poverty. I've 
never been used to it. I'm like Lady Tape 
in that." 

" But what does outward poverty matter 
where there is such inward wealth as was 
stored in the mind of that clerk ?" 

" All such, wealth, my dear, won't keep 
your charrot and pair !'* 

" Have you been amused ?" said Henry 
Greville to Lucy, 

" Oh, more than amused ! I have been 
intensely interested." 

" Come, sir," said Mrs. Green Brown to 
the supercilious Cecil Sydney ; " since my 
young friend has borrowed my beau, I'll set 
my cap, 'or rather 'ead of 'air, at hers. 
Will you go and order some hices, if you 
please ?" 

Cecil could not refuse, and lounged 

" I am so glad," said Henry Greville, to 


Lucy, "that you so fully appreciate the singular 
genius of my friend, Mr. F. Robson." 

" Do you know hini ?" asked Lucy. 

" Oh, very well, indeed, and I can assure 
you he is as estimable and amiable in private 
life as he is brilliant and impressive on the 
stage. Many good judges think he would 
make a great hit in genuine tragedy ; and his 
Shylock and Uncle Zachary convince me that 
the tragic element is as strong in him as the 
comic ! — However, he has a style of his own, 
and his genius, perhaps, cannot do better than 
follow its own promptings. He is cliarm- 
ing in society, and delightful in the company 
of genuine artists. What a man can do and 
say, is to me so much more important than 
what he has ; and what he has made himself, 
is far more interesting to mc than what liis 
ancestors have made him !" 

Lucy liked Henry Greville from this mo- 
ment; nay, she began to look at and to Hsten 
to him with that vague, half-})lcasing, hiilf- 

VOL. I. K 


painful interest, which is perhaps symptomatic 
of the birth of love. 

Cecil returned, with a woman carrying ices. 
After the farce, which was, as far as Mr. F. 
Robson was concerned, a triumph of genius, 
not second even to that he had achieved in 
'' Plot and Passion," Mrs. Green Brown called 
upon Henry Greville " to put on her hopera 
cloak," and, as she said, " be her beau, and 
' play the pretties ' to her." Cecil Sydney 
forced his unwelcome attentions on Lucy; 
and while Mrs. Green Brown clutched Henry 
Greville's arm, Cecil compelled Lucy to ac- 
cept his. 

The coquettish minauderies, boasting vul- 
garity, and unmistakeable " mauvais ton " of 
Mrs. Green Brown encouraged Cecil Sydney 
to treat Lucy with a freedom very distasteful 
to her. When they reached the passage 
approaching the entrance, Mrs. Green Brown 
turned haughtily from a man of the lower 
orders who had offered to get her a cab, and 


addressing Cecil, said aloud, " My lord " (and 
in an under tone, " least ways as will be "), 
" will you be so good as to call out, ' Mrs. 
Green Brown's charrot and pair !' " 

Cecil, enjoying the joke, slipped a shilling 
into the hand of the man who had so offended 
Mrs. Green Brown by offering to fetch a cab, 
and whispering to him to roar out, " Mrs. 
Green Brown's charrot and pair !" a sensation 
was created in the laughing crowd which de- 
lighted Mrs. Green Brown, and painfully an- 
noyed poor Lucy. 

In the crush — and there was a terrible and 
protracted crush — Cecil, in whispering to her, 
approached so closely, that his odious '' jeime 
France " brushed her cheek. 

" You were very rude to me the other day," 
he drawled out. 

" In what respect ?" said Lucy, coldly. 
" You struck me at first sight ; you did, in- 

" Well, it was a rudeness you were not 

K 2 


guilty of," said Mrs. Green Brown, who 
thought herself a wit, and had some readiness 
and repartee. " You did not strike her, I'm 

" Cruel ! I didn't strike you. You cannot 
confirm that assertion." 
" Indeed I do." 

" And if I love you, what then ?" 
Mrs. Green Brown, overhearing him, said — 
" Why, then, sir, the love will be all on one 
side, I can tell you ; or, rather, as the Irish- 
man said, ' the reciprocity is all on one 
side.' " 

Lucy stepped into the brougham, and with a 
cold bend to Cecil, and a smiling bow to 
Henry Greville, while Mrs. Green Brown 
kissed her hand to both, as they drove away . 




The young men had agreed to sup together 
at Cecil Sydney's, and there they found Mr. 
Perret, the detective, awaiting them in the 
drawing-room; and on the door-steps the 
urchin who had apprized Cacil that Lucy 
Bhiir's pocket had ])een picked. His face was 
smeared with niiid, formed of dirt and tcjirs. 
He said " tlie job had Ix'cii tookcd out of his 
liands, and most like tlie icwaid too, and 
'twas a reg'hir do." 

Detective Ferret pi'oduccd a note without 


its envelope — scented, glazed; a few lines 
only, but in a strain of high-flown gallantry, 
and signed " Edgardo." Both the young men 
recognised the weak, sloping handwriting of 
Sir Jasper Malvoisin. There was also a gold 
scent-box, a small pot of rouge, an artificial 
tooth, a little pocket mirror, and a richly em- 
broidered pocket handkerchief, marked w^ith 
initials they could not make out. 

Detective Ferret, who saw everything in a 
business point of view, spread out these curi- 
ous objects without a smile or a conunent. 
Cecil laughed aloud ; Henry Greville coloured, 
and seemed pained. They soon agreed with 
Eerret not to prosecute, handed him a reward, 
bestowed the promised sovereign on the boy, 
and, supper being announced, they swept into 
a drawer the contents of poor Lucy's pocket 
(she not having even discovered that in the 
dress Lady Hamilton Treherne had sent her 
there was a pocket, and her ladyship having 
quite forgotten both it and its contents). 


" What a little made-up baggage she mu^t 
be/' said Cecil. 

" Oh, there's some myster}^ in all this. 
These things cannot be hers — she's almost a 
child. She wears no rouge ; and as for her 
teeth — little pearls ! — that odious great fang 
would not match them." 

" Oh, I don't know that ; women make wj) 
Avonderfully now-a-days. And I, so afraid 
that Malvoisin should see her. Why, from 
this note, I should say he's her lover — a little, 
artful, impudent minx ; with her coy airs. A 
regular do !" 

" I cannot make it out," said Henry Gre- 
ville ; " but if ever truth, purity, and inno- 
cence were " 

"Put on," said Cecil. "But I'll pay her 
out ! I'll find her out, too, to-morroAV !" 

Alas! we talk of to-morrow, and per- 
haps to-night may be heavy witli thimder- 

The butler came in very pale, with a 


message that had just come by the electric 
telegraph in his hand. 

Cecil, white as ashes, grasped it, and ex- 
claimed : — 

"A cab directly, Malmsey. My poor 
father !" 

He handed the card to Greville, and tmiied 
to the window., Greville read : — 

** The Earl has had a bad fall from his horse. Con- 
cussion of the brain. Little hope. Come directly. 
Bring Sir B. B . Poechestek." 

Here was a terrible change. The Earl was 
a kind, indulgent father ; and Cecil had not 
been the best of sons. He was in a fever to 
be gone. Lucy was forgotten. The cab was 
at the door. Henry Greville went Avith Imn 
to the station, saw him off, and then returned. 
He was not the Earl's son, and he had not 
forgotten Lucy Blair ; and locking up the 
curious contents of her pocket in the sofa 
table-drawer, he put the key in his portmon- 
naie, and went home to bed. 




''The heart, distrusting, asks if this he 
joy ?" thought poor Lucy, as, unsettled in 
mind, with nerves unstrung, dejected in spirit, 
and with aching head, she rose, after a troubled 
night, to prepare for her daily toil for daily 

" Theatres, dear mamma, are fine places for 
fine ladies," she said to licr mother, who, 
quite upset by the unwonted fatigue and ex- 
citement of the day before, was unable to rise, 
and was looking, to the great distress of her 


affectionate and anxious daughter, very ill in- 
deed. " But oh, mamma ! although I was 
intensely interested in the play, and delighted 
with the performance, the evening, on the 
whole, was so fraught with annoyance to me, 
through the strange conduct of my chaperon, 
and the bold, intrusive behaviour of that in- 
solent, supercilious Mr. Cecil Sydney, that I 
do not wish to go into public any more ; 
vanity and poverty form the most miserable 
vmion in the world. JMrs. Green Brown is 
very kind and good-natured, and it would be 
very ungrateful in me to say a word against 
lier to any one but my own dear mother, to 
whom I may venture to speak openly. But, 
in spite of her age and size, she is very vain, 
very coquettish, and with all her wealth 
she is dreadfully vulgar ; her want of educa- 
tion, her forwardness, and evident ignorance 
of all rules of good breeding, put me, dearest 
mamma, in a very false position : and then the 
anguish I felt when I saw her, not withstand- 


iiig her years, which would mspire respect if 
she carried their burden with dignity, sporting 
with those fashionable, supercihous men, at 
least with one of them. . . . Oh, mam- 
ma, I never wish to go to a theatre again, 
unless with your dear quiet self by my side — 
you, whose simple dignity and graceful repose 
of manner always insure respect for yoiu'seli' 
and consideration for me." 

" I am truly sorry, my dear hiicj" said 
Mi's. Blair, " that the mistake I made in 
listening to Mrs. Bragge's account of Mrs. 
Green Brown has subjected you to so much 
annoyance. Alas ! my child, I left England 
so young, and have led so secluded a life 
abroad, that I fear I have not sufficient expe- 
rience of life to guide you safely, and the only 
way for us to avoid great perils and blunders 
will be to keep ourselves to ourselves. I did 
say, half in sport, yesterday, that I hoped you 
might see those gentlemen again, because I 
have read and heard of so numy iustiiuccs in 


Avliich men of rank and fortune, who have 
been caught in the first instance by a passing 
view of a pretty face or sylph-hke figure, have 
been finally won by that virtue, dignity, in- 
telligence, and lady-like purity of thought and 
grace of manner, without which no beauty 
can charm long. It struck me that if those 
gentlemen, \A^om chance sent to your assist- 
ance when you were upset and insulted by 
that abusive cabman, really captivated by your 
appearance, contrived to get properly intro- 
duced to you and to myself, and proved to be 
men of taste, character, rank, and fortune, they 
would admire you the more they saw of you, 
and one or both might, perhaps, in the end, 
form an attachment which would make them 
only too glad to offer their hands and hearts." 
" Ah, dearest mamma, such things are very 
common in books, I believe, but very rare in 
real life. You know we had in Italian, at 
Sienna, an abridgment of ' Pamela ; or. Vir- 
tue Rewarded,' for the use of young people. 


Well, I always thought, as I read it, that not 
for all Pamela's final triumphs would / have 
put up with one of the insults offered her by 

Mr. B before he made up his pompous, 

coarse mind to condescend to marry her. No, 
dearest mamma ! I value no love that is not 
bom of that respect, that reverence, which 
every noble-minded, true-hearted woman has 
a right to expect from every man who covets 
her affection and esteem, from a cabinet 
minister down to the humblest clerk in the 
dingiest office in the city. No man who has 
once dared to look at me impatiently, accost 
me disrespectfully, or even to speak of me too 
freely, can or ever shall win my favour. I 
shall never (let him alter as he may) cease to 
dislike and despise Mr. Cecil Sydney ; nor 
can I ever, on the other hand, forget that, 
even in the questionable and degrading false 
position in which he has seen me, alone in the 
streets, and alone when thrown out of that 
miserable old cab, ay, and worse than alone 


at the theatre, Mr. Henry Greville has spoken 
to me with as graceful a deference and endear- 
ing a sympathy as if I had been introduced 
to him at a court ball, with a duchess for my 

" There spoke my own sweet Lucy," said 
Mrs. Blair ; " I warmly sympathise with all 
you have said, my child ; but only, as I see 
no chance of your being properly introduced 
into society, and as I am acutely anxious about 
your prospects, and miserable at seeing that 
your present laborious life is making you pal- 
pably thinner and paler day by day, you must 
not think me unmindful of the dignity of our 
sex in general, and that of my daughter in 
particular, if I say that I do wish some wor- 
thy man, whom you could love, could know 
you well enough to see you with my eyes, 
and offer you that position in society, and 
that establishment in life, to which yotu- gentle 
birth, your breeding, your education, virtues, 
and undeniable beauty alike entitle you," 


Lucy reflected for a moment, and the image 
of Henry Greville rose on her memory, with 
his gentle, kindly, respectful manner, the soft 
earnestness of his expressive eyes, his chival- 
rous, devoted air, and deep yet modulated 

For one moment, a beguiling thought of 
what it would be to be really loved and 
courted by such* a man suffused Lucy's face 
with blushes, and her eyes with tears ; but 
the next instant the maiden instinct that it 
was not in her bosom such a fancy should 
take root until transplanted there from his, 
and that she " must be woo'd, and not un- 
sought be won," even in the innermost re- 
cesses of her own sweet thoughts, made her 
start up and exclaim, " Don't let us dream 
any romantic dreams, my own mamma ! You 
say you married for love, and were not happy ; 
and I have often heard you remark that, from 
your own experience, you should say tlie 
balance of comfort inclined on the side of 


single-blessedness. So let us hope I shall be 
long spared to you, and you to me, unfettered 
by any other tie. We are very, very happy 
together ! And if I am a little worn and jaded 
with this daily toil at Lady Hamilton Tre- 
herne's, you know I may get a much better 
situation soon, if my answer finds favour with 
that advertiser in the Times. I shall think 
no more of what are miscalled the pleasures, 
but are only the idle vanities, of life ; for, after 
all, the truest pleasures are those that spring 
from the cultivation of our intellect and the 
performance of our duties. They leave no 
regrets, no vague longings behind. They 
alone satisfy the appetite of the heart ; while 
the others only excite it. Let me see you eat 
one little bit of toast and take another cup of 
tea before I go, dearest manmia, for it is get- 
ting on to eight, and I must run a great part 
of the way, to make up for this pleasant hah 
by your dear side !" 

Just as Lucy spoke, a little, deHcate knock 


was heard at the door, and on going to it she 
saw Mincing, in sky-bhie curl-papers, and a 
yellow peignoir y standing there, with a glazed, 
pink, scented note in her hand. 

" My mistress/' said Mincing, " wrote this 
last night, miss ; and begged me to give it to 
you before you went out early this morn- 

" How is your mistress ?" asked Lucy. 

" I have not been into her room yet, miss," 
said Mincing. '' She has not yet rung for her 
tea ; but I fear she will not be quite herself, 
she was so excited last night, and sat up so 
late, writing some verses." 

" Oh, indeed ! Is she a poetess, then ?" 

" Oh, yes, miss ! My mistress has written 
several copy-books full of a poem, of which 1 
only know that it is called ' Canto,' and sounds 
very grand." 

Lucy smiled ; and Mincing bowed, and de- 

Lncy returned to licr mother's bed-side, 

VOL. r. L 


and read, while an overpowering odour of 
amber issued from the embossed note — 

"One in the morning. 
" My charming Feiend, 

" While Mincing is brushing my hair, I pour out 
my soul to you. At last I feel as if I had found a 
kindred sperit. I am sure there is a cord of sympethy 
between us. 

*' I long for a tit-a-tit with you. I want to talk over 
our beaux of last night. I shall order the carridge at 
three, for a drive in the park ; and I hope you will dine 
with me tit-a-tit and go to see Mr. Woodin's Oho 
this evining. Why should we bury such charms, and 
be ashamed to show such faces as ours ? Who can tell, 
but in the Park, or at Mr. Woodin's, we may see — you 
know who, again ! 

" One line to say you will attend me. Mincing can 
bring it me when I ring. 

" Your most devoted friend, 

" GEOEaiA-NA Geeen Beown. 

'* P.S. — Not a word to mamma. 

*' N.B. — I have a charming little bonet, all beads 
and bugles, only worn once, of which I shall beg your 
acceptence. One must be stilish to drive in the Park. 

'* I can lend you a very tasty ruby- velvet morning 
jacket — Mincing can fit it to your shape. What fun 
we shall have ! — Adieu." 


Lucy quietly went into the sitting-room, 
took her desk, wrote a note, and brought it to 
her mamma. 

" I think I know what you have said, my 
love ; read it to me." 

Lucy read. 

" Dear Madam, 

" Accept my thanks for your invitation and offer ; 
but permit me, at the same time, gratefully to decline 
both. My dear mother is so unwell that I cannot think 
of quitting her for any evening pleasures, although my 
morning duties do compel me to leave her some hours 

" My visit to the theatre was my first, and it will be 
my last * gaiety of the season.' 

'* Yours, truly obliged, 

**LucT Blair." 

" Exactly what it ought to be," said Mrs. 
Blair, while tears filled her eyes. 

'' Now, mamma, "said Lucy, " as Mrs. Green 
Brown is very tetchy, that will prevent any 
further notice of me ; and so I shall be able 
in future quietly to devote myself to duty and 


I, 2 


Here Betty came in with a letter, which 
proved to be an answer from the person who 
had advertised for a daily governess. It was 
cold and haughty, and merely said, — 

" Madam, 

" From three hundred answers I have selected six ; 
and, if you think it worth your while to come so far as 
the Willows, Putne^y, for the chance of being preferred, 
I shall be happy to see you on Friday next, at five p.m. 
But, to save trouble, I may as well observe, that if you 
cannot give the most satisfactory references, and are 
not of very studious, quiet habits, strict religious prin- 
ciples, and really accomphshed mind, it will be useless 
to apply here. If you are, and have a pure taste in 
music (sacred music), and a perfect accent in French, 
Italian, and German, I shall not grudge a Uberal sa- 

" I am, madam, yours truly, 

"Augusta Smith." 

" We will consult about this, dear mamma, 
when I come back," said Lucy ; " and then I 
can answer it." 

" You may safely do that in the affirmative, 
mv love," said Mrs, Blair. " I am sure Mrs. 


Smith will find no one so exactly suited to 
her as my Lucy." 

" Well, darling mamma, adieu for the pre- 
sent !" said Lucy, looking at her watch. " I 
have not a moment to spare. I wish Mrs. 
Smith Avere not quite so serious, and so very 
stiff and formal." 

" Oh, some people who are very stiff and 
formal at first, unbend wonderfully on inti- 
mate acquaintance," said Mrs. Blair. " I 
believe you will find her a very liberal, excel- 
lent person." 

" Nous verrons," said Lucy. " So farewell 
for the present, mamma !" 




It was with no small degree of anxiety that 
Lucy Blair prepared to keep her appointment 
with Mrs. or Miss Augusta Smith, at " The 
Willows," Putney. 

Her situation at Lady Hamilton Treherne's 
^vas become almost unbearable. 

Lady Hamilton Treherne, whose unfeehng 
and insolent egotism poor Lucy had in some 
degree checked in the first instance by her 
dignified and spirited self-assertion, had lat- 
terly adopted a system of sharp, contemptu- 


ous, and almost reckless tyranny, seldom re- 
sorted to by a woman of the world, unless to 
compel the " governess," or " companion" (or 
other dependent of some kind — even an hum- 
ble relative, portionless sister, or poor cousin, 
perhaps) — to resign her office. ^ 

And, indeed, this w^as now the case. Lady 
Hamilton Treheme was the vainest of vain 
beauties, on the wane ; and, of course, was 
miserably jealous and wretchedly envious of 
all younger and handsomer women. 

But it was not till she found poor Lucy's 
beauty universally recognised and ardently 
admired by that sex to captivate and please 
which was with Lady Hamilton Treherne a 
passion, that she resolved to forego the great 
advantages which she perceived that her 
daughters derived from the earnest, consci- 
entious care of her all-accomplished but now 
detested daily governess. 

Lady Hamilton Treherne's children had 
told their mamma, and, alas ! with many ex- 


aggerations and additions, of Sir Jasper Mal- 
voisin's habit of cross-questioning them about 
Miss Blair. They Avere pleased to be able, 
by their highly-coloured narratives, to arouse 
the attention and excite the animosity of their 
generally' listless, apathetic mother. They 
felt that they became of importance while they 
had something to tell ; and when they had no 
facts to draw upon, they drew, alas ! as they 
had often known their lady mother do, upon 
their imaginations. Vanity and cowardice 
are the parents of falsehood. 

Those young girls, whose delicate sense of 
right had been early blasted by their mother's 
bad example, found their vanity gratified by 
her praise of their quickness of observation 
and the retentiveness of their memories, and 
were afraid of her displeasure if they owned 
they had nothing to report ; and so they in- 
vented when they had been unable to discover 

What then ? They had often known their 


mother do so ! She was afraid of Sir George 
Hamilton Treherne ; and they had noticed, 
with that quickness inseparable from their 
years, and to which older people are so fatally 
blind, that their mamma always had recourse 
to falsehood (direct or indirect), prevarication, 
or exaggeration, when the truth was likely to 
rouse the fiery temper of their dreaded and 
austere papa. 

What " mamma" did, they had acquired a 
habit of doing long before Lucy Blair had 
the management of them. 

Frank, brave, nobly true, and therefore very 
unsuspecting, it w^as a long time before Lucy 
Blair became aware of her pupils' proneness 
to exaggerate, misrepresent, colour, and even 
falsify. When she did so, the discovery gave 
her great pain (not a little tinged with con- 
tempt and disgust), it seemed so inwrought 
into their young and otherwise not unamiable 

Lucy was thinking seriously how to destroy 


a habit which is to the female mind what the 
town-w^eed is to a garden — once admitted, of 
rapid, spontaneous growth, almost ineradicable, 
and choking by its vile luxuriance all the fresh- 
est flowers of feeling and buds of promise. 
But just as this subject occupied the thoughts 
of one who felt the full responsibility of her 
office, the unbearable insolence and bitterness 
of Lady Hamilton Treherae made her deter- 
mine (as soon as she could do so with any 
degree of prudence) to resign that office alto- 

Nor was it merely her ladyship's conduct 
that drove poor Lucy to this determination. 
Her pupils themselves, of course, took their 
tone from their " mamma ;" and though, in 
their little impressionable though wilful hearts, 
they loved and respected Miss Blair, they 
began to vie with each other in impertinence, 
nonchalance, and disobedience. 

Hannah, the school-room maid, encouraged 
and even suggested all kinds of slight and 


petty insults ; and the only friends poor Lucy 
had in that great, cold, cruel house were the 
French maid and Mr. Malmsey, the butler. 

The evident regard of the latter was, how- 
ever, one of the greatest trials and mortifica- 
tions of Lucy's friendless and false position. 

For poor Malmsey was very much in love ; 
and Lucy, who knew she was born a gentle- 
woman, was a little ashamed that a butler 
should presume, as Malmsey evidently did, to 
think it no impertinence in a man who had 
laid by five thousand pounds, and meant to 
keep a first-rate hotel in the west end, to 
aspire to the hand of a poor daily governess. 

In addition to the mortifications heaped 
upon her by the now furiously jealous and 
envious Lady Hamilton — in addition, also, to 
the imitative impertinence of her ])upils and 
of Hannah, the pompous ofF-handedness of 
the powdered footman when out of Mr. Malm- 
sey's view and within that of Haimali, and, 
greatest annoyance of all, the glances, sighs. 


groans, and countless unwelcome attentions of 
the portly middle-aged Malmsey, Lucy had 
other sources of distress connected with this 
her first situation. 

All these things united made her passion- 
ately anxious to obtain that which Mrs. 
Augusta Smith had to offer. 

Not only 'Sir Jasper Malvoisin constantly 
accosted her on his way to and from Lady 
Hamilton Treherne's, but very frequently of 
late she had met the little marmoset-like 
lawyer whom Molly M'Cree had saved from 
being nm over, not merely on her way to the 
Trehernes', but actually in the house. 

Once, early in the morning, she went into 
the library to seek for " Johnson's Dictionary:" 
she started back with horror to see him writing 
a sort of deed ; and twice he put his hide- 
ous little face in at the schoolroom-door while 
she was at lessons with her pupils, and 
grinning, said, " How do, young ladies ? — how 
do, Miss Blair ? — teaching the young idea how 


to ' shoot ! ' eh ! right through the heart, eh ! 
with darts from bright eyes — best weapons, 
eh !" and, nodding, disappeared with a screech- 
ing, elfish laugh. 

Lucy had learnt from her pupils that this 
little monster was by name Slimy Coil, and 
by profession a lawyer. " One of papa s law- 
yers," said the eldest girl ; adding, " Papa 
has so many lawyers, and I heard Hannah 
say Slimy Coil did all the dirty work." 

" Pray do not repeat Hannah's sayings, 
Miss Hamilton Treherne," said Lucy. " It 
is not likely that your papa has any dirty 
work to be done by any one ; and you do not 
see that Hannah, in maligning Mr. Slimy 
Coil, maligns also your own papa, Hannah's 

"Oil, as to ' master,' Hannah says papa is 
master over every one to whom he pays 
wages," said Miss Georgiana; and Lucy's 
cheeks tingled at the inevitable inference. 

" And as to maligning Mr. Slimy Coil," 


retorted the insolent young rebel, Miss Hamil- 
ton Treheme, " that's a good idea ! Hannah 
told me not to tell you what she said, for she 
Avas sure you were setting your cap at old 
Slimy; and she said, Miss Blair, only you 
must not repeat it, that she thought you 
couldn't do better ; and that you should have 

her consent for one, and she'd give you " 

'' Drop the subject, if you please. Miss 
Hamilton Treherne," said Lucy. " It is both 
improper and offensive." 

" Oh ! but I can't drop it till I've told you 
that we're all sure he's in love with you. 
He asks so many questions about you : your 
age, yoiu" manners, what you do, and think, 
and say, and where you've travelled, and who 
you live with, and I cannot tell you what. 

But so does Sir Jasper just the same " 

" Silence, my dears," said Lucy : " and, 
Georgiana, come to the piano." 

Georgiana went to the piano, but directly 
after Miss Hamilton Treherne resumed — 


" I heard papa say you were too handsome 
to be a daily gove^rness, and walk alone in 
London ; and mamma said " 

But a look from her sister checked her, 
and Lucy was not sorry not to hear what 
Lady Hamilton Treherne had said. 




Lucy had been more than usually annoyed 
and mortified at the Trehernes', on the morn- 
ing of the day appointed for her visit to 
" The Willows," Putney, 

Sir Jasper Malvoisin had joined her on her 
way (through back streets) to Belgrave Square. 
In spite of all her efforts to get rid of him, he 
persisted in walking by her side, and was 
stooping down, much against her Avill, talking 
to her under her bonnet, when she met Henry 
Greville face to face. 


She bowed, with an instinct of pohteness, 
in recognition of one who had helped her on 
the occasion of her accident in the cab, and 
who had visited her with Cecil Sydney in 
Mrs. Green Brown's private box at tlie 

To her surprise, shame, and unspeakable 
mortification, he did not bow in return. 

He looked her full in the face, with a sneer 
of contempt on his finely-curved lip, and a 
haughty, almost mocking expression in his 
dark eyes. 

The meeting her in a back street in com- 
pany with Sir Jasper brought vividly to his 
mind the contents of her pocket ; the glazed, 
scented billet-doux of the profligate Sir Jasper, 
the rouge, &c. &c. He remembered Cecil 
Sydney's inference and decision, he con- 
demned, he despised her, and lie let her see 
that he did so. It was an impulse, and 
jealousy was at the bottom of it, but when he 
came to reflect he suspected he had wronged 

VOL. I. M 


her, and a " late remorse of love" was busy at 
his heart. 

Lucy was much hurt and very much sur- 
prised. Nor w^as she less so when Sir Jasper, 
exclaiming, " Wait a minute, Greville ; I'm 
going your way, old boy ! and I've got such 
a prospective lark for you," rudely left her 
side, kissing his hand with revolting fami- 
liarity, and calling out to her as he took Gre- 
A'ille's unAvilling arm, " Au revoir, ma belle, 
a demain!' 

Lucy's cheeks burned with shame and mor- 
tification at Sir Jasper's insolence and Henry 
Greville 's contempt, but some deeper feeling 
caused the tears to gush from her eyes, and 
the words, '' Why, oh why was I born ?" to 
rise from her wounded heart to her pale, 
trembling lips. 

Nor was this all. Lucy could not present 
herself at the Trehernes' till the evidence of 
her tears and her emotion had disappeared. 
She roamed about the streets and adjoining 


squares and crescents for a long time before 
she could quiet her throbbing bosom, and 
conquer the hysterical spasm in her throat, 
and hot gushing of her tears. 

At length the thought of a Father in heaven, 
who cares for the orphan, and the mother 
on earth who had no prop, no hope, no 
comfort, but this poor " way-trodden flower," 
enabled her to master the agony of her 

She went into a baker's shop, and a kind, 
motherly w^oman, of whom she bought a bun, 
gave her a glass of water, and let her take 
this refreshment in her own little parlour. 

There, in a Dutch plate glass, Lucy was 
able to ascertain, after half an hour's rest, 
that -though she looked pale and weary, no 
one could see she had been actually crying ; 
and satisfied on this point, she hastened to 
Lady Hamilton Treherne*s. 

Instead of nine o'clock, it was eleven when 
she knocked at the door. Mr. Mahnsey 

M 2 


opened it himself. She was actually pale and 
trembling while he asked her " if she was ^ill, 
or any haccident had 'appened at 'ome to 
make her so late," adding, " he couldn't ex- 
actly compliment her on her looks, which she 
was generally as fresh as a rose, but now the 
lily was more of a comparison, if comparisons 
was not so odorous." 

Lucy thanked him civilly, and hastened up 
stairs, conscious, as she did so, of a more than 
wonted rudeness of stare and giggle in the 
two powdered, tagged, and red-plushed giants 
who were paid and fed well for looking grand 
and doing nothing. 

And in the anteroom Hannah was swelling 
with importance, and more than usually pert. 
She threw open the school-room door with 
malignant officiousness, and there, in Lucy's 
own place, at the head of the study table, 
sat Lady Hamilton Treherne herself. 

Yes, under the exciting influence of jealous 
malice the fine lady, who generally at this hour 


was lying on downy cushions in her huslied, 
darkened, and hixurious chamber, had actu- 
ally got up, and hurried into the school-room, 
the better to be able to taunt, reproach, and 
mortify Lucy. 

But Lucy had, as we have seen, no small 
share of self-respect, and a very great wish to 
resign, as soon as prudence allowed her to 
do so, a situation so trying to her in many 

She gracefully bent with easy self-posses- 
sion, apologised for being so late, saying, *' It 
is the first time, madam, that I have not been 
punctual to a minute, and I feel extremely 
glad that your ladyship's health is so much 
improved as this early appearance and ex- 
ertion indicate." 

" Oh, you are quite mistaken. Miss Blair," 
said Lady Hamilton Treherne, " if you 
imagine that I am at all c(|ual to tlu; fatigni; 
of rising at this unwoutcd lionrto su])eriutend 
the young ladies' studies. I dare say I sliall not 


recover this for weeks. But the feeling that I 
nm a mother is stronger even than that I am an 
invalid. And when I heard (for I hear everv^- 
thing, Miss Blair) that the all-important 
morning hours were gliding by without your 
presence, I was moved to do what I have 
done — and supported as one often is, almost 
beyond one's - expectations, when acting by 
the dictates of duty." 

" I hope," said Lucy, " you have found, 
madam, that the young ladies have made as 
much progress as could be expected in the 

"I do not think they get on as rapidly as 
they did at first, Miss Blair. The undivided 
attention of both teacher and pupil is neces- 
sary to insure success ; and when young 
Avomen in your situation begin to think 
more about their own advancement than 
that of their pupils, more about outAvard 
adorning of the person than inward adorning 
of the mind, maternal anxiety Avill take alarm." 


" I am quite at a loss to know what you 
mean, madam," said Lucy, proudly. 

" And I am quite unequal to any discus- 
sion on the subject. I see a great change in 
you, Miss Blair, that's all ; and as you pique 
yourself on your candour, I believe, I think 
you cannot deny that there is a change within 
and without." 

" Indeed, madam !" said Lucy, blushinji: 
scarlet, and the tears sparkling in her eyes ; 
" indeed " 

'* Not a word ! not a word more, I l)eg, 
Miss Blair. I am quite unequal to it. May 
I trouble you to ring the bell ? I have 
promised to let Sir Jasper Malvoisin," slic 
said, with a sneer, " attend me to StrawbeiTv 
Hill; but I ain really (juite unequal to tin* 
effort ; however, he w ill be in such despair if 
I don't go — 1 must make the effort. Self- 
sacrifice, alas ! for what else was woniiiii 
made ?" 

So savhi":, without answerinjir Lucv's bow, 


but kissing her thin, white, jewelled fingers 
to her daughters, who were already looking 
very saucily at Lucy, Lady Hamilton Tre- 
herne leant on her French maid's arm, and 
left the schoolroom. 




Poor Lucy 1 her duties to-day were very 
trying ; and had she not been upheld by the 
hope of being able to resign her office in a 
few days, her spirit would have given way — 
for once or twice she all but allowed her tears 
to gush forth. 

Not only to many of her directions the 
answers, " Mamma ])r()ii()uii('C8 it so and so," 
and " Mamma says that is ^^•^nn<^^" were 
pertly given ; but at last Louisa, tlic youngest, 
furious at being ordered to re-write a very 


carelessly-written exercise, in a great passion, 
and encouraged by the looks and signs of her 
elder sisters, threw a book at Miss Blair's 
head — rather a thick French and English 

The great book came with more weight 
than force ; and for a moment, as it struck 
Lucy's head, which was bent over a drawing 
she was correcting, she was stunned mentally, 
morally, and physically. 

There was a moment of suspense and 
alarm. The little daring assailant (a spoilt, 
white, fairy girl of seven, with long flaxen 
plaits, and large blue bows) was frightened at 
what she had done while the result was 
doubtful, but when Lucy looked up, very 
angry, but not seriously hurt, they all burst 
out laughing. 

Lucy's spirit was now fairly roused, and 
she ordered the little culprit instantly to quit 
the room. 

This she refused to do, and Lucy ap- 


proached her to enforce obedience. Upon 
this her sisters (now in open rebelHon) rushed 
to her rescue. 

" Go to your places," said Lucy, firmly. 

"Not for your orders, Miss Blair," said 

" Go to your places !" said a much louder, 
sterner voice. 

And the girls, looking round aghast, saw 
that their father. Sir George Hamilton Tre- 
herne, their dreaded, silent, stern father, had 
entered unperceived, with Slimy Coil, and had 
witnessed the whole scene. 

Lucy rose and bent with dignified humility 
to the handsome, haughty, but dissipated 
man, who said — 

"I am ashamed to own you as my daugh- 
ters, young ladies. You, Augusta and Mil- 
dred, at once apologise to Miss Blair foi' 
daring to interfere between her and tliis Httle 
insolent rebel. You, Miss Louisa, I will 
punish myself. Conic with me, if you please. 


Come witli me, if you please. Come 

Trembhng, very pale, and her eyes filling 
with large tears, Louisa approached her ter- 
rible papa, while the elder girls, in real 
alarm, faltered forth their meekest apologies 
to poor Lucy, who was so moved by the im- 
ploring glance of Louisa's eyes, that she 
ventured to approach Sir George, and blush- 
ing deeply, to say — 

" As it is the first offence of the kind, Sir 
George, may I be allowed to intercede ? I 
am sure Louisa is very sorry she so far forgot 

" She shall be more sorry before I have done 
with her," said Sir Georo^e ; " and thoudi I 
acknowledge it is difficult to refuse so fair an 
advocate, yet I think correction must be ter- 
ribly needed for matters to come to such a 
pass. I think, too, I know what influence 
has been at work to incite this rebellion ; but 
I know of a counter-influence, and I will use 


it. Yes, Miss Augusta, even ou you, if I 
find that, although ahnost a woman in years 
and size, you are nothing but a naughty 
rebel child at heart." 

So saying, and bowing to Miss Blair, Sir 
George led away the little terrified culprit. 

What befell her in the library, into which 
he led her, closing the door after him, we are 
not at liberty to say ; but several shrill cries 
sent the blood to her sisters' cheeks, and 
drove it from Lucy's. For half an hour they 
went on with their studies, patterns of dili- 
gence and respectful attention, Slimy Coil 
sitting the while in the room, apparently con- 
sulting a gazetteer, but in reality watching 
Lucy over his spectacles. 

At the end of that time, and while Haimah, 
the schoolroom maid, also much subdued and 
very respectful, was laying the cloth. Sir 
George returned, leading Louisa, who was 
very red, hot, timibled, and luim])led, her 
eyes red and swollen, and her face blistered 


with tears. As well as her sobs permitted, 
she gasped out entreaties for pardon, and pro- 
mises of amendment. 

Lucy longed to clasp the little penitent to 
her heart, but Sir George's austere manner 
prevented her. 

Then, saying, " Now, Coil, come to the 
library," he shook hands with Lucy and left 
the room. 

It was Sir George's first visit (for years) to 
that room, and it produced an immense effect. 
Nor was it the last. He felt a strange, 
grave, growing interest in the poor young 
governess of his troublesome children. 

Lady Hamilton Treherne attributed his 
visits to the schoolroom to a wish to flirt with 
Miss Blair; and though she was perfectly 
indifferent about him herself, was furiously 
jealous of Lucy. 

But there was nothing of flirtation or even 
admiration, in the common sense of the word, 
in the manner of this imperious man, who. 


cold to others, wamied towards Lucy into an 
almost fatherly interest, and excited in the 
poor girl (though she knew from Justine that 
he was a proud, dissipated, haughty man, a 
careless husband and cold father) a regard 
and almost affection, of which she could not 
understand the nature, or fathom the depth. 

But this was subsequent to the merited 
punishment of the little innocent rebel, Lou- 
isa, on that eventful day, which began by the 
intrusion of Sir Jasper Malvoisin, who had 
})ersisted in walking with Lucy against her will, 
and was followed by the dead cut from Henry 
Greville, which she attributed, of course, to 
the false and mortifying position entailed 
upon her by the presence at her side of this 
bold, bad man. 

Slimy Coil had endeavoured to ascertain 
her exact address, under pretence of having a 
niece who wished for lessons in Italian ; and 
as she left the house, Mr. Malmsey had pro- 
duced a basket of hot-house fruit and flowers, 


and a couple of spring chickens, and had 
said — 

" I shall be disengaged for two hours this 
evening, miss, as Sir George and my lady will 
both dine out ; and I shall do myself the 
honour of taking a cab, and waiting on your 
respected Ma'r with this little present, loldch 
a little fruit and a spring chicking is accept- 
able to an invalid. And, I think, miss, if the 
good old lady will give me a cup of tea, which 
sociability helps a man to unveil the most 
sacred emotion and the respectful homage, 
which none but the brave desen^es the fair. 
And faint heart " 

But a thundering knock at the door cut 
Mr. Malmsey short ; and while he was obse- 
quiously answering some queries of the 
Duchess of Paineant, Lucy slipped quietly 
away. But she saw that the basket was 
directed in Mr. Malmsey's best text hand — 

Mrs. Blair, 

9, Arundel Street, 



Of course it was impossible to prevent his 
calling. But Lucy rejoiced to think slie 
should be at Putney, and determined to 
consult with her mother whether it would be 
better for that lady to plead indisposition, 
and so escape an interview, or to receive him, 
and, over a friendly cup of tea, frankly, yet 
kindly, put a stop to his disinterested but 
most unwelcome attentions, and for ever ex- 
tinguish his mortifying hopes. 

VOL. T. 




Sir Jasper Malvoisin, a middle-aged 
coxcomb, a profligate, a roue, and a sybarite, 
had, as we have seen, conceived a passion for 
poor Lucy, with which revenge, and a deter- 
mination not to be defied and defeated by a 
simple girl, had a great deal to do. 

With all his gallant, smooth, oily manners, 
and a propensity to obesity, which is seldom 
found in vindictive, designing men. Sir Jasper 
was singularly cruel, remorseless, and impla- 
cable. He was extremely crafjy, too ; and 
vain almost to insanity. He had, when 


a passion for Lucy not unlike his own, the 
younger and shghter, had his admirers among 
women who could not or would not look be- 
neath the bland, smooth, rippling surface, to 
discover the rocks, the quicksands, and the 
slimy monsters of the deep. 

He had resolved to humble Lucy ; and 
though he would have preferred doing it by 
what he called fair means — namely, by his 
showy exterior, his flattering tongue, his atten- 
tions and promises — ^yet these failing, he had 
other, darker, and viler ways and means. 

He had resorted to them before ; he would 
again, he said, with an inward oath, if needful ; 
and needful he had declared they were be- 

A great additional impetus had been given 
to his passion for Lucy by tlie accidental dis- 
covery that Cecil Sydney and Henry Grevillo 
— of whose flat and taste he thought as a beau 
on the wane does of those of men about town 
in their prime — were smitten, the one with 

N 2 


other with an affectionate interest which any 
girl might be proud to inspire. 

Sir Jasper became aware of this one day 
when riding with Henry Greville to some 
gay picnic. They on their way saw poor 
Lucy standing at a crossing, waiting until 
they had passed. 

" The prettiest Uttle baggage in all Lon- 
don !" said Sir Jasper, nodding familiarly to 
poor Lucy, and sui'prised to see the colour 
mount to Henry Greville's temples, as he took 
off his hat to the poor daily governess, with 
as much deference as if she had been a prin- 
cess of the blood royal. 

" What a Quixote you are, Greville," said 
the fat coxcomb, who, with his waist com- 
pressed by a broad patent riding-belt, and 
with a new and very becoming wig of light 
hair, with a miraculous parting, thought he 
looked slender and handsome enough for any- 
thing. " I do think, Greville, you would raise 
your hat to a maid-servant." 


" If pretty and good, I think I might do 
so ; but that young lady is no maid-servant." 

" No one knows better than I do what she 
is," said Sir Jasper. " Why, she's here to 
waylay me. She makes a point of passing 
my house daily." 

The fact was, that, to avoid passing through 
Piccadilly, with its gay shops, hotels, equipages, 
and loungers, and, above all, to steer clear of 
the clubs in St. James's Street and Pall-mall, 
Lucy habitually took her way through Duke 
Street, little suspecting that Sir Jasper had in 
that very street an elegant, luxurious bachelor 

The exquisite display of rare })lants and 
luxuriant creepers festooning the windows 
and balcony always attracted Lucy's atten- 
tion ; for, like most girls of taste and feeling, 
she doted on flowers. Tlie glances she di- 
rected at some lovely, rare blossom, which 
she meant to reproduce on paper, or model 
in wax. Sir Jasper loved to believe were sent 


in search of the full-blown person he was, 
perhaps at that very moment, adroitly making 
lip for the day ; and his valet, who knew his 
weakness, would say, when he espied Lucy, 
" Oh, Sir Jasper, what a pity you ain't ready 
to be seen ? Couldn't you step out of your 
bath, Sir Jasper, and throw on your wrapper ? 
I've got the papers out of your wig. You can 
pop it on, and have a peep from behind the cur- 
tain at * the pilgrim of love,' as we name her 
below. She's at the shrine already. Sir Jasper." 

Certainly, Lucy's close scrutiny of his win- 
dows did mislead the fat coxcomb. Greville 
was much provoked, when he added — 

" In spite of your presence, my preux che- 
valier, I must say a word to her, poor little 
thing ! Wait half a minute. I shall not be 

" But you are not going to speak to a lady 
on foot from the altitude of your saddle, are 
you ?" said Greville. 

''' 11 y a dame et dame r said the coxcomb 


ambling up to Lucy, and leaning over his horse's 
arched chestnut and glossyneck to speak to her. 

Henry Greville watched her with intense 
anxiety, and laughed with triumphant delight 
to see her turn directly and proudly round, 
without answering the vapid impertinence of 
Sir Jasper's address, giving him thus the cut 
direct. She then bowed gracefully to Gi'e- 
ville, and hurried off in another direction. 

• Sir Jasper ambled back to Greville, and 
said, '' If you hadn't been by, I should have 
had a pleasant chat with her — Httle artful, 
coquettish puss !" 

"I'm sure your vanity misleads you sadly 
about that girl," said Greville. " She may be 
poor — she may have to work for her daily 
bread — an ill-paid sister of the needle or tlie 
pen ; but she is as good and modest as she 
is pretty ; she has that dignified, ladylikt' 
ease of manner — that perfect breeding and 
that proper pride — which constitute one of 
Nature's gentlewomen. Wliatever her cir- 


cumstances, such a woman is a lady, and I 
shall always treat her as such. She has a 
great deal of self-respect, and proper spirit 
too : you should see how she scorns and snubs 
Cecil Sydney." 

'' What ! does he know her too ?" 

" Oh, he's in love with her — at least as 
much in love as a libertine can be." 

" And you as much as a saint can be, I 
presume ?" sneered Sir Jasper. 

" When I look into that sweet, earnest, 
pure face," said Greville, " I regret all I have 
ever done that I should be afraid or ashamed 
of her knowing." 

" My good fellow, you're taken in," said Sir 
Jasper. " She's a regular do ; she's no heart 
for any man ; but she has a httle, or rather a 
great fancy for your humble servant." 

Greville grew* white with anger, and his 
eyes flashed; his hands were involuntarily 
clenched ; but he controlled himself, and they 
rode side by side in silence. 


Sir Jasper was silent, for he was planning 
Lucy's ruin. Henry Greville Was silent, for 
he was building a castle, or rather a cottage, in 
the air, with Lucy to do its simple honours. 

If Sir Jasper had admired Lucy Blair before, 
he was enthusiastic about her noAV that he 
knew that Cecil Sydney, as well as Henry 
Greville, was in love with her. 

This was a week before that luckless day 
when Henry Greville, having been constantly 
watching and waiting about, in the hope of 
seeing her, suddenly met her walking with 
Sir Jasper by her side, and his bold face under 
her bonnet. 

Jealousy distorted his mental vision, and he 
misjudged the poor girl, and, as we have seen, 
cut her. 

The " prospective lark," about which Sir 
Jasper shouted so rudely to Greville, as he took 
a cavalier farewell of Lucy, had for its principal 
object the downfall of that })oor and spotless 
child of misfortune. 


Greville suspected that the detested and 
detestable sensualist had some vile scheme of 
abduction in his toupeed head, when he asked 
him for the address of Le Furet, Cecil Syd- 
ney's French valet (a perfect intrigant in such 
matters) ; and, encouraging Sir Jasper to 
reveal his schemes without naming their ob- 
ject, Henry Greville became convinced that, 
in spite of Sir Jasper's cowardly boasts and 
falsehoods, Lucy had given him no encourage- 
ment ; that, if he obtained possession of the 
poor, innocent child, it would be by some 
bold and dastardly ruse, and that even in that 
he could not succeed without the aid of Le 

Le Furet was open to a bribe, and he felt 
certain Sir Jasper meant to offer him one. 
" But two can play at that game," said Gre- 
ville to himself. "Sir Jasper is very mean, 
even where his pleasures are concerned. If 
he offers Le Furet ten guineas to help him to 
carry the poor girl off, or otherwise entrap her, 


I will offer him twenty to save her. I'll tell 
my good old aunt, Lady Sarah, the whole 
story ; and she'll lend me the money for so 
good a purpose, I know. If it is as I suspect, 
I'll get it all out of LeFuret. Should it be Miss 
Blair Sir Jasper wants his help to entrap, I'll 
give Le Furet a hint of his master's love for 
her ; and, though he'll pocket Sir Jasper's 
bribe, he'll take care the poor girl doesn't fall 
into his vile, remorseless hands. I'll get it 
all out of Le Furet, and circumvent the obese 
coxcomb, or my name's not Henry Greville." 
Sir Jasper, having obtained Le Furet's ad- 
dress, rode off to consult him ; and Henry 
Greville awaited the end of their conference to 
carry out his own counterplot. 




" How I wish I were well enough to ac- 
company you, my Lucy,'* said Mrs. Blair, as, 
after the early cup of tea, the poor daily 
governess, still pale and agitated from the 
many annoyances of the morning, prepared 
for her visit to "The Willows," Putney. 

'* Oh, do not think of such a thing, my 
dearest mother, so poorly as you are to-day !" 
said Lucy. " I shall manage very well. I can 
walk to the Waterloo Station, and thence it 
is a very short journey by train to Putney." 


''But you do not know where 'TheWil- 
loAvs' is, and it would not do to be late ; 
with such a very particular person as Mrs. or 
Miss Smith, punctuality is a sim qua non!' 

" For which reason, dearest manuna, I will 
start at once ; and don't be at all uneasy if I 
am late home. Mrs. Smith may ask me to 
tea or supper — or I may miss the train ; but, 
recollect, I can come to no harm with such a 
very superior, steady, excellent lady as she 
must be, judging from her letter." 

'' And you feel sure this Mr. Malmsey will 
call, my love ?" 

" Alas, yes ! and I am very sorry for it too, 
for he is extremely kind, and I dare say has 
no idea that a poor girl who comes daily in 
all weathers knocking at the door of a house 
where he is a sort of viceroy, can feel morti- 
fied and degraded by an offer from him." 

'' Of course he does not know that you are 
a lady born, and that your papa, Lucy, was 
an officer, and that his father kept a butler 


and footmen ; and that, by rights, his daughter 
is more fit to hire a butler than to many 

" Well, mamma, be very kind to him," said 
Lucy, " for I am sure he is really attached to 
me ; and he is going to bring you a basket of 
hot-house fruit and flowers, and a couple of 
spring chickens." 

" I shall be very glad of them, at any 
rate, my love; and shall have one of the 
chickens roasted with bread sauce, and the 
fruit and flowers set out, and we'll have a 
nice little supper when you come back from 

" Do I look neat and nice, dear mamma ?" 
said Lucy, after she had changed her dress 
and completed her, simple but becoming 

" Very, my love ! and I feel sure you will 
suit that excellent Mrs. or Miss Smith. Oh, 
I forgot to tell you! Mrs. Brown Green is 
recovering from her fit of sulks, and has been 


up here glittering with bugles, waving with 
marabouts, pungent with otto, in the smartest 
bonnet and amplest dress I ever saw. I 
counted six flounces on her skirt, which was 
of pea-green silk, and she had a ruby velvet 
jacket, fitting so tight/' 

Lucy smiled as she thought that she might 
have sported that very jacket, had she been so 

" She is certainly a fine, showy woman," 
said Mrs. Blair, " and looks much better with 
her bonnet, which was all blonde and white 
bugles, with rose-tipped marabouts outside, 
and bunches of rose-buds in." 

" And what did she want, mamma ? Did 
she ask for me ?" 

" Yes, she spoke of you as if she pitied 
your want of judgment in not appreciating 
the rare advantage of her introduction and 
society ; but I saw what she really aimed at 
was to ascertain the exact address, and how 
to spell the name of one of those young 


fashionables you so wish to avoid — the fair 
one, she said, 'quite a man of ton,' as she 
called it ; Mr, Sydney, I think." 

" Of course you could not enlighten her, 
dear mamma." 

" No, but I advised her to look him out in 
the Court Guide, which she had not thought 
of, although she had ' consulted the peerage,' 
as she said. She wants to write to him about 
getting his father's (the Earl's) vote for some 
child she wishes to place in the blue-coat 
school ; and she read me a copy of a letter 
she has written to him — rather high-flown 
and verbose, but eloquent and very compli- 

Lucy smiled ; she suspected, for she knew 
more of Mrs. Green Brown than her mother 
did, that the blue-coat boy was merely a myth, 
to bring her into correspondence with the ex- 
quisite Cecil, who had so captivated her vain, 
idle mind. But Lucy had no time to say 
juore ; so, kissing her mother's pale cheek, 


she ran down stairs, neat as a quaker, fresh as 
a rose, modest as a violet, and pure as a hly ; 
her Kttle white straw bonnet trimmed with 
daisies, and the same emblematic flower in 
the little blonde cap that shaded her small 
oval face, and set off the rippled, glossy bands 
of her rich chestnut hair. 

Lucy wore a black silk dress, and a violet 
velvet mantle trimmed with black lace, which 
had been presented to her mother by a 
wealthy pupil at Genoa ; and she set off for 
*' The Willows," Putney, as perfect a speci- 
men of modest English beauty and neatness 
as was ever produced by a country so justly 
proud of the mental, moral, and physical love- 
liness of its daughters. 

VOL. I. 




Lucy reached the Putney Station without 
having met with any adventures. She had 
been lucky in getting a seat in a carriage with 
men who were gentlemen, and who, therefore, 
though they glanced at her beauty, did not stare 
at her, but helped her in and out, gave her 
up a corner in a front seat, let down the win- 
dow for her, and one of whom, at the risk of 
losing his place (for he was going on to 
Windsor), ran after her with the neat broAvn 
silk en tout cas, which ip ker hiu'ry and 


anxiety (unused to the possession of such a 
treasure) she had left behind. 
^ At the station she inquired her way to 
" The Willows." 

The people there were strangers, and kneAv 
nothing of the neighbourhood, but suggested 
that, from the name, it must be one of the 
villas down by the river. They advised Lucy 
to proceed in that direction and inquire at 
"The Chequers," an old-established public- 
house, near the Thames. This old-fashioned 
inn was a mile from the station ; but it was a 
fine, balmy spring evening, and Lucy, high in 
hope, enjoyed the walk. 

At "The Chequers," she learnt that the 
villa called " The Willows " was half a mile 
off, a very lonesome place, " buzzomed in 
trees," said the landlord, " sloping down to 
the river, very dark and damp in winter, but 
mighty cool and shady in summer-time. Two 
years ago it belonged to the great banker as 
broke so sudden, 'twas full of line pictures, 

o 2 


and statutes, and kickshaws then," said old 
Boniface, "and was let furnished ; but who's 
got it now I don't know ; they don't get nq 
beer here — nor not so much as a drop of 
spirits, so that 'tain't likely I should know 
much about them." 

" Of course," thought Lucy, " the admira- 
ble and very particular lady who wdll, I hope, 
enable me to resign my painful situation at 
Lady Hamilton Treherne's, is, I doubt not, a 
teetotaler, and if so, I like her all the better." 

So, with full directions how to find the 
villa, she tripped along, the shadows length- 
ening, the sun setting with red and slanting 
rays, and the evening closing in. 

After a few mistakes and losing her way 
more than once, Lucy reached a high wall, 
and inquiring of a milk boy, heard to her 
dehght that, " Yes, them there's the Willers." 
She rang the bell, and a door opening as in a 
convent, without any visible means, she found 
herself in a long, dark passage. A butler, 


grave, stern, solemn, and in mourning, asked 
her her name and business. Lucy sent up 
her card. The man returned, and gravely 
signed to her to follow him. She passed 
through several rooms, and noted, as she did 
so, rich frames, marble statues, soft carpets, 
and costly furniture ; but it was chill and 
dark, and she felt awed and nervous, she 
scarce knew why. At length she was shown 
into a large, lofty room, the bay windows of 
which, stone-mullioned, diamond-paned, and 
latticed, festooned with creepers and rich with 
armorial bearings in stained glass, looked out 
on the lovely Thames, reflecting the gorgeous 
sunset. The room was exquisitely fur- 

" You will have to wait a few minutes," 
said the butler. " You are very late ; I un- 
derstood no applicant was to be seen after six, 
and it is near seven." 

" I lost my way," said Lucy timidly. 

The man scowled, and Lucy was alone. 


A few minutes elapsed — a door at the 
fui-ther end of the room slowly opened. Lucy's 
heart beat. She rose from the seat on Avhich 
she had sunk, prepared to make a low obei- 
sance to the austere and virtuous lady, who 
had, as she thought, appointed this interview, 
and found herself face to face with that vin- 
dictive, vain, and remorseless roue, whose vile, 
treacherous advertisement she had so uncon- 
sciously answered, and who now stood before 
her, a triumphant smile on his cruel lips, and 
a terrible expression in his bold eyes — Sir 
Jasper Malvoisin. 




We left poor Lucy Blair pale with surprise 
and alarm at the sudden appearance of the 
man she most dreaded and disliked on earth, 
Sir Jasper Malvoisin. 

But though perplexed and annoyed beyond 
measure at finding her profligate and ubiquit- 
ous tormentor even at the remote " Villa " of 
the austere and very particular Mrs. or Miss 
Augusta Smith, Lucy was far too inexperi- 
enced in the wicked ways of this wicked 
world, and far too pure-hearted and unsus- 


picious, to understand the hideous perils and 
frightful realities of her position. 

She little imagined that she was the victim 
of a heartless trick, often cruelly resorted to 
Iw those sad wretches miscalled " gay men," 
to entrap young and friendless governesses, 
teachers, and companions, by the base dis- 
appointing device of a tempting and crafty 
advertisement. If her heart beat quick, and 
her knees shook, and a spasm almost closed 
her throat at the idea that the vile and odious 
Sir Jasper Malvoisin Avas an habitue at " The 
Willows," what Avould she have felt had she 
at once discovered the fact that Sir Jasper 
and Mrs. Augusta Smith were one and the 
same person ; that " The Willows," which she 
had thought of with awe as the abode of the 
austerest virtues, was the sybarite retreat of 
sensuality, profligacy, and epicurism of every 
kind ; that the libertine who held out his fat, 
Avhite, jewelled fingers to invite her little 
hand, cold as it felt through her glove, with a 


vague presentiment of evil, was master of the 
house into which she had been tricked, of all 
the servants who composed its establish- 
ment, and, as he fully believed at that mo- 
ment, of Lucy herself. 

As poor Lucy could not make up her mind 
to place her hand in his, he drew nearer, took 
it almost against her will, led her to her seat 
(into which a little gentle force compelled 
her, trembling as she was, to sink), and taking 
a chair himself, drew it opposite to her and 
sat down. 

" I came here by appointment," said Lucy, 
" to see Mrs. or Miss Augusta Smith. Where 
is that lady ?'* 

'' She wishes me to represent her for a few 
minutes. She is my dearest friend," said Sir 
Jasper, with well-affected nonchalance. 

" Yours !" faltered Lucy, gazing at him 
with eyes dilate and lips apart. 

" Yes, mine — poor Jasper Malvoisin's ; he 
whom you judge so harshly and hate so un- 


justly. I am to the virtuous, clear-sighted 
Mrs. Augusta Smith, who can look beneath 
the frothy, glittering surface into the clear 
and jewelled depths, the beau-ideal, the all in 
all. On my judgment, my decision, my opi- 
nion, your fate depends. I inserted the ad- 
vertisement which has brought you here ; and 
I did it because I heard from the little Ha- 
milton Treherne girls that you saw the Times 
daily, and I felt sure that you must seek its 
columns for an advertisement of something 
better than your miserable situation at Lady 
Hamilton Treherne's." 

" Sir," said Lucy, " I understand neither 
your motives nor your actions. What little I 
do know of you makes me very unwilling to 
be indebted to you in any way. If you have 
the influence with Mrs. Augusta Smith which 
you describe, she cannot be the sort of person 
I had imagined her to be ; but having come 
so far for the sake of an interview," she 
added, almost with an hysterical sob, so bit- 


terly was she disappointed, agitated, and per- 
plexed, "I do not like to leave the house 
without one ; only, as it is getting very late, 
and this place is so far from the station, if I 
cannot see her at once, I must resign or post- 
pone that pleasure." 

" I will go and accelerate her movements. 
In the iiieantime, take off your bonnet and 
shawl. Miss Blair," said Sir Jasper, with distant 
politeness, tinged with authority and even 
hauteur ; " and pray make yourself at home. 
I have no doubt whatever this will be your 
home. I am myself," he added, " only just 
arrived here, having been all day at the fete 
with Lady Hamilton Treherne. You see I 
am still in my morning dress." 

This was true. The slave of pleasure is a 
very great slave, indeed ; and Sir Jasper had 
had very great difficulty in escaping his im- 
perious and exacting task- mistress. Lady 
Hamilton Treherne, in time for those greater 
tyrants still — love and revenge ! 


" I must leave you for half an hour," he 
added (Sir Jasper had great faith in full 
dress) ; " but if you hke to be shown to a 
dressing-room to prepare for dinner, I will 
send a maid-servant to you. You must dine 
here — must, indeed ; and, as it is so late, 
]\Irs. Smith will of course expect you, not 
only to dine, but to stay the night here." 

" Oh, that would be quite impossible," said 
Lucy ; " my mother expects me. She w^ould 
be alarmed beyond measure even if I were 
very late, and, in her state, any terror might 
injure her so as to cause a relapse." 

" Then Mrs. Smith's carriage must take 
you to the station after dinner ; but I know 
she expects you to dinner. It is very essential 
to her to form an acciu-ate opinion of the 
manners and conversation of her future com- 
panion. The appointment is one well w^orth 
having. Miss Blair. But you look faint and 
very pale, my poor girl ! I will leave you 
alone ! but pray sit or lie down, and recover 


yourself. You are agitated, anxious, over- 
fatigued. I will send you a glass of wine, 
and go and hasten Mrs. Smith. Poor child ! 
how it trembles !" he said placing a stool for 
Lucy's feet, and opening a pane in the French 
glass door, to admit the au' ; "I hope you 
are not going to faint, my dear girl ! There, 
now, be still for a moment ! Here is a vinai- 
grette, and here some eau de Cologne. You 
see I am not at all what you thought me ! 
— not the ogre of the fairy tale, though you 
are its wandering and lovely princess. I 
shall not kill you, or only with kindness." 
Lucy shuddered, as he drew near coaxingly ; 
and, seeing this, Sir Jasper frowned, and he 
left the room. 

But Lucy, over- fatigued, startled, and much 
disappointed, did feel faint and quite bewil- 

The vinaigrette and the eau dc Cologne 
revived her a little, and she rose and ap- 
proached the glass door, which she found 


locked, and in which a pane which opened 
with a hinge admitted the evening breeze. 
As she stood gazing anxiously at the now 
" dark flowing river," the lengthening sha- 
dows, and the lowering sky, a man crept 
almost on all-fours along the flower-beds and 
among the shrubs that fronted the river-view 
of the villa,' and from which a lawn sloped 
down to the Thames. 

Lucy started, and the blood rushed wild 
and hot to her face and neck, when sud- 
denly standing erect, making her a sign to 
be quiet, and thrusting a note containing 
something hard in at the open pane, he put 
his finger to his lips and stole away. A cold 
dew stood on Lucy's brow, her nerveless 
hand could scarcely hold the note, a deadly 
terror palsied* her limbs, and she felt sick 
and cold and blind ; but, recollecting that to 
yield to this weakness might be to be lost, 
she mastered her terror, hastily opened the 
note, which contained a key, and read, — 


** You have been deceived and entrapped. But be 
true to yourself, and you may yet be saved ; you have 
friends at hand. Dissemble if possible for half an 
hour. But directly you receive this key unlock the 
glass door, then close it, as if nothing had hap- 
pened ; hide the key. If any violence is offered you, 
rush out upon the lawn down to the river ; but, if not, 
be quiet till your deliverers arrive. Appear to suspect 
nothing. Touch no wines, or any other refreshment ; and 
trust in Providence, and 

A Feiend in Need." 

Lucy was a tnie woman and a thorough-bred 
lady ; therefore, her spirit rose with the emer- 
gency. She felt now what she had at stake, 
and her courage rose to defend her honour. 
She was supported, too, by virtuous indigna- 
tion and the blessed sense that help was at 
hand. " My poor mother !" she murmured, 
as, complying with the directions given her 
in the note, she gently unlocked the glass door 
and thrust the key into her bosom. Then 
sinking for a few minutes on her knees, she 
prayed fervently that the orphan's Father in 


heaven would deliver her from the vile hands 
of the base, remorseless seducer, and re- 
store her unscathed to her only parent on 




Lucy rose from her knees strengthened and 
composed; and remembering the advice to 
dissemble, betrayed no emotion of anger or 
alarm, when, after about twenty terrible mi- 
nutes had elapsed. Sir Jasper returned, dressed 
for dhmer. So gently did the sleek Sir Jas- 
per open the door, and so softly did he tread 
the rich carpet of velvet pile, that a strong 
odour of " Jockey Club Bouquet," odious to 
Lucy as connected with him, was the first 
intimation she received of his dreaded pre- 

VOL. I. p 


sence. Although he wished to approach 
her, yet he was anxious she should have a 
good view of his tout ensemble, as he stood on 
the hearth-rug. Sir Jasper did not deceive 
himself; he knew that he looked better at a 
little distance, and with the red velvet drapery 
of the mantelpiece behind him, and in the 
light of the ruddy blaze, than he could do 
close to the window in the cold gray twilight 
of a spring evening. Apprized then of his 
presence by the fragrance emitted as he opened 
his cambric handkerchief, Lucy looked round, 
drawing closer to the window the while, and 
saw Sir Jasper leaning in a studied attitude 
on the mantelpiece, gazing at her with moiu'n- 
ful tenderness. His wig, of which the golden 
ripples glittered in the fire-light, waved over 
a forehead of cosmetic brilliancy, on which 
art had described two soft auburn arches ; his 
cheeks were delicately pink, but, alas ! a little 
pufify ; his lips coral ; his teeth pearl ; his 
whiskers glossy brown ; — a black lace tic — he 


was too good a judge to risk a white one — set 
him off well, and contrasted with his richly 
embroidered shirt, and its turquoise and dia- 
mond studs ; his dress was wisely all black. 
He was perfection from the top of his wig to 
the sole of his arched and highly glazed bottes 
vernis. After one hurried glance Lucy looked 
once more at the river, and the silent butlei- 
entered, carrying a silver tray with wine, 
water, and biscuits. 

" I hope you feel better, dear Miss Blair,'* 
said Sir Jasper, after the butler had departed, 
noiselessly closing the door. " Let me per- 
suade you to take a glass of wine," and he 
proceeded to pour one out. 

" Not just at present, I thank you," said 
Lucy ; " I lind the air very reviving." 

" Let me remove that flower-stand, thou, 
and place you an arm-chair near the window." 

Lucy was seated in a cushioned recess of 
the bay window. 

" No, I thank you ; I prefer this just for 


the present," said Lucy. " But it is getting 
very late and very dark ; if Mrs. Smith is not 
ready to see me, I must go at once." 

" It is you w^ho are not ready to see her^' 
said Sir Jasper, in a much more degage tone. 
" Why don't you do as I bid you, you pretty 
little rebel ? I told you to take off your bonnet 
and mantle. "Do you think Mrs. Smith is a 
person to buy a pig in a poke, child ? How 
can she judge what you are like, while that 
bonnet hides your little Grecian head, with its 
wealth of golden tresses ? and that envious 
mantle conceals that slender but rounded 
shape, which Psyche might envy you? Come, 


* Only little Jack Horner 
That sits in a corner ;' 

take my advice, and before dinner, step up 
stairs and set off that pretty person, for much 
depends on looks with Mrs. Smith, She has 
an eye for beauty, I can tell you, Lucy." 
" I have been much deceived in Mrs. Smith, 


Sir Jasper," said Lucy, calmly, though her 
blood boiled with indignation and her heart 
beat with terror, " if beauty would influence 
her choice at all." 

'' Have you ? No, you haven't, you little 
rogue ! for you know well enough who Mrs. 
Smith is, and /lave known all along." As 
Sir Jasper said this, Lucy, with a cry of 
mingled surprise, horror, and agony, started 
to her feet — white as sepulchral marble, her 
fingers working convulsively, her lips hghtly 
compressed, as if to keep in by force the 
words of wrath and scorn that would else 
have burst from them. The effort w^as al- 
most too great ; denied the safety-valve of 
passionate and indignant language, tears, large 
and hot, gushed from her eyes ; a cold per- 
spiration gathered on her brow. " Father in 
heaven, pity and save !" she murmured, as, 
heedless of the vile presence of Sir Jasper, 
she sank on her knees by the window seat, 
and buried her face in her hands. For a mo- 


inent Sir Jasper was awed — true passion al- 
ways awes ; but rallying, he cried, " Brava, an 
old stage trick, but neatly done ! Brava ! 
You're a very good actress, upon my word ; 
and I'm sure a girl who can play such a part 
with so much apparent naivete and pathos, 
would make a fortune on the stage, if she re- 
(^uired it, which you won't, my love, if you 
play your cards well here ; here you'U be 
jjrima donna, for a time at least !" 

" Remorseless, false, and shameless man ! 
what do you mean ?" gasped Lucy, rising and 
confronting him. 

" Mean ! why, we both mean the same 
thing. We mean, as the song says, to ' live 
and love together.' You have known all 
along that Sir Jasper Malvoisin is Mrs. Au- 
gusta Smith, and Mrs. Augusta Smith Sir 
Jasper Malvoisin — the best friend you have in 
the world, child, if you will but let him be so. 
Who else w^ould have taken so much trouble 
as to advertise ?" 


" You put in that advertisement ?" faltei'ed 
out Lucy. 

" Of course I did, and you answered it be- 
cause you kncAv who put it in, you little 
gipsy ! It took ' mamma ' in, I dare say, 
but not you ; a clever girl like you, on the 
look-out for adventures, and who knows a 
thing or two." 

" Dinner ,is served. Sir Jasper," said the 
butler, disappearing again, and closing the 
door at a sign from his master. 

" Come now, Lucy," said Sir Jasper, ''don't 
spoil a good dinner and a pretty face — both 
pleasant things in their way ; tears never im- 
proved beauty yet, and never will. Whether 
you saw through my little device or not, at 
first, matters very little ; you see through it 
now, don't you ? And you know there s no 
girl who wouldn't rather be the beloved and 
petted companion of Sir Jasper Malvoisin 
than the snubbed, hard- worked drudge of 
some demure, exacting, hypocritical, canting 


old puritan. We can keep it very snug from 
* manmia ' and the world. Come ! nay, no 
temper, child. You're in my power now. Do 
you remember threatening me with the po- 
lice ? — ha, ha, ha ! you pretty little vixen ! I 
swore then, as now, that I'd be revenged, and 
that you should be mine. Here, leave off 
sobbing, drink this glass of water." 

He turned to pour one out. While he did 
so at the further end of the room, Lucy, 
quietly and furtively, opened the glass door, 
and exclaiming, " Villain, heaven will punish 
you and protect me yet ! Mean, cruel, 
treacherous, remorseless villain !" she darted 
out, and was on the lawn before Sir Jasper, 
tinning round to bring her the glass of water, 
he had poured out, perceived that she was gone. 




" Little perverse fool ! Wilful little 
idiot !" he muttered, stepping out after her ; 
" what does she expect to gain by going out 
there ? — and what dolt unlocked the dooi- I 
had fastened ? With her fine principles she 
can't mean to throw herself into the water, 
surely ! I'm not going to risk my life to get 
her out if she does. I wish I'd never seen 
the little impracticable baggage !" he added, 
panting and puffing, as he hurried after Lucy. 


Sir Jasper was not only very stout, but he 
wore tight stays. 

" Why, what's the meaning of this ? — two 
men have joined her ! Oh, all's right ; I hope, 
for one is Le Furet ! By Jove — why, he's 
helping her clown the steps. AVhat, is he going 
to give her a ducking, or a cold bath, or to 
help her ' anywhere, anywhere out of the 
world ?' If there was a boat there I should 
think the fellow meant to play me false ; but 
the boat's gone to be mended. Hallo, Le 
Furet !— Le Furet !" 

Sir Jasper reached the upper step just as 
a boat comes alongside of them, and Le 
Furet is assisting to make it fast with one 
hand, and with the other is helping Lucy to 
spring in ; to assist her to do which, a 
tall figure in a Spanish cloak and slouch 
hat (pulled over the brows), extends a 

" Stop, Le Furet, stop !" cried Sir Jasper, 
hoarse with passion, and with a terrible oath, 


springing down the steps and catching at 
Lucy's mantle. With admirable presence of 
mind, she undid the clasp, the mantle re- 
mained in Sir Jasper's hand, and Lucy sprang 
into the boat. 

" If there is a gentleman among you," 
roared Sir Jasper, " I will make him answer 
to me for this ; it is trespass !" 

" There is a gentleman here," exclaimed 
Henry Greville, throwing his own cloak round 
Lucy, and standing up in the boat as he sup- 
ported her fainting form. " He will answer 
readily enough for a justifiable trespass, and 
make you answer for a cniel and dastardly 

'' You shall hear from me to-morrow, sir !" 
roared Sir Jasper, 

" I hope so !" replied Greville. 

Sir Jasper then darted at Lc Furet, who 
still held the prow of the boat ; he tried to 
push him into the water, but the agile French- 
man, wrenching Lucy's mantle from Sir Jas- 


per, with one bound sprang into the boat, 
while the latter, his foot slipping, found him- 
self in the river, up to his w^aist ; by the aid 
of the reeds and the long grass, he scrambled 
up the bank just as the boat, containing four 
figures (Lucy and three men — one a boat- 
man), glided quietly down the stream. That 
boat had been~ tyii^g in wait for three hours ! 
But by this time there was no light left ex- 
cept what a few twinkling stars and a crescent 
moon afforded ; and Sir Jasper, though he 
stamped, and cursed, and swore, was not 
mad enough to court exposure, and was 
one of those odious mixtures of the brute, 
the bully, and the coAvard, who stop at 
nothing if a woman is defenceless, but take 
great care what they are about if she has 
any male friend or relative to aid or avenge 

" I do believe," he murmured, " that it is 
that cursed Greville, not Cecil Sydney, who is 
my rival. I thought from what the fellow 


said he admired her. I've no doubt he found 
out I'd told him a few white Kes ; that Le Furet 
always fishes out everything, and that treach- 
erous, enamoured ass, Greville, has devised 
this counterplot to save the little haughty 
minx from what was much too great an honour 
for her. The more fool he ! Had he let her 
stay with me till I was tired of her, and that 
would have been in less than a week, I dare 
say he'd have found her a very quiet, amia- 
ble, sensible little girl by that time. Now, if 
she sees he's in love with her, she'll exact 
marriage, and the mother, perhaps, a settle- 
ment, and a fine thing that'll be for a fellow 
without a sou, over head and ears in debt, and 
who has nothing to look to but a city heiress, 
which his person, birth, connections, and pros- 
pects might secure him ! I wish them all at 
the bottom of the river; by Jove, what a 
storm is brewing !" 

As he spoke, the dark waters became agi- 
tated, the willows, with a sighing noise, tossed 


their long, green tresses wildly about; the 
thunder growled, and finally burst out in ter- 
rific claps, and nothing but the forked light- 
ning enabled him to find his way up the steps 
and on to the lawn. The wild rain gushed in 
heavy torrents from the inky sky, and Sir 
Jasper, full dressed for dinner, and, as he 
thought, to captivate Lucy, already wet up to 
the middle from his fall in the river, was 
drenched to the skin in crossing his own 

He had walked out without a hat, in a dress 
coat, silk stockings, and lackered boots. A 
wretched object met the silent butler's view, 
as, hearing the glass doors rattle, he came in 
with lights. That Hyperion fabric. Sir Jas- 
per's golden wig, was drenched, his eyebro^vs 
smeared, the rose tint gone from his fat cheeks, 
and the colour from his whiskers di'opping 
on to the embroidered bosom of his shirt. 
Quite wet through, his feet soaked, quaking, 
shivering, and his false teeth chattering, while 


his false heart beat faint and low, never was 
disappointed, outwitted, defeated gallant in 
such a plight. 

The violent passions whicli the fury of the 
elements had quenched, had, by heating his 
blood, made the danger of his subsequent im- 
mersion, drenching, and exposure tenfold. 

A free liver, and of a very full habit, the 
accident which might have had no evil conse- 
quences for most men, very nearly proved fatal 
to him. 

The evening on which he had expected to 
gratify at once his love and his revenge, and 
by means of the vilest treachery triumph over 
the purest innocence and noblest virtue, — that 
evening for which he had so patiently waited, 
and so long plotted and panted, found him 
alternately shivering with cold and burning 
with heat, trying in vain to obtain relief 
from a hot bath and a warm bed. Terrified 
at his own symj)toms, and with none bnt 
menials to attend to him, the next day saw 


him in racking agony, raving in delirium, two 
doctors in his room, and a nurse by his bed- 
side ; bUstered, leeched, bled, dosed, pleurisy 
having ensued from the drenching of the 
night before, and brain fever from the excite- 
ment which preceded it. 

On that day when Henry Greville, sur- 
prised at not hearing from Sir Jasper, sent him 
a note by his servant, to say that he awaited 
his commands, he was startled and shocked to 
hear that Sir Jasper w^as not exepcted to 
live through the night. But w^hile he shud- 
dered at the thought that it was possible that 
this bad man might be suddenly summoned 
before his Maker, to answer for all his long- 
hidden and remorseless sins, he rejoiced to 
think that it was owing to him that the ruin 
of Lucy Blair could not be added to the 
dread account. And at the recollection of 
Lucy an unwonted tenderness filled his heart 
— a vague, delicious restlessness agitated 
his mind — tears rushed to his eyes ; and 


seizing his hat, he resolved to go and in- 
quire how Miss Blair was after the terror, 
fatigue, and exposure of that dreadful 

VOL. I. q 




When Lucy left her mother to keep her 
appointment, as she thought, mth Mrs. Au- 
gusta Smith, and, high in heart and hope, 
hastened to the Waterloo Station, to go by 
train to Putney, poor Mrs. Blair sat down, 
well pleased, to work and to think. She 
was almost as ignorant of the world as her 
daughter, and far more gi\ en to castle-build- 
ing, because she had more time for that un- 
remunerative, perishable, and brittle style of 


No suspicion of any deceit or peril ever 
crossed her frank and simple mind. She was 
rejoicing d'avance in the superior remunera- 
tion and comforts of Mrs. Augusta Smith's 
pious and well-regulated establishment. She 
felt certain Lucy would obtain this excellent 
and desirable appointment ; for w^ho was so 
good, so steady, so " taking," so well-informed, 
or so accomplished as her own darling Lucy ? 
The idea of Mr. Malmsey, a butler, daring to 
raise his eyes to her lovely, lady-like, gently- 
born, beautiful girl ! 

But then he had only know^n her as the 
poor daily governess. He had no idea what 
a real lady, born and bred, Lucy was ; and, 
after all, to make her an offer of his hand was 
the greatest compliment any man could pay 
to any woman. Only it was a pity Lucy's 
first proposal of marriage should be made 
by a butler ! 

But lie was coming to tea, and nothing was 
ready. She must put on her best blonde cup 



and pink ribands, and her grey silk dress. 
Lucy would be so vexed if she received him 
in her morning cap and wrapper ! And she 
would borrow Mrs. Bragge's new tea-set and 
silver teapot, and cover the old washed and 
faded blue table-cloth, with the pale yellow 
border, with a nice, clean, snow-white damask 
one. The nicer Mr. Malmsey found things 
in Lucy's home, the more he Avould respect 
the poor child ! 

Perhaps he fancied, from her going out in 
all weathers to teach, that she was in very 
abject poverty, and half starved at home ; and 
that her mother was a poor old crippled, bed- 
ridden creature ; and if so, it was no wonder 
that he thought Lucy would be overjoyed to 
marry even a fat elderly butler. 

Thus flowed on the course of her simple 
thoughts, varied by wonders as to what Lucy 
was doing at that moment. Perhaps while, 
aided by Betty, she was setting out the httle 
tea-table to the best advantage, Lucv was set- 


tling about terms and hours with that pious, 
excellent Mrs. Augusta Smith ! Of course, 
the distance would make it quite necessary 
Lucy should dine at the Willows, and the 
expense of the journey there and back daily 
ought to be defrayed by Mrs. Smith, and no 
doubt would be so. It would do Lucy good 
to be so much in the open air, and the plea- 
sant little daily trip by rail to Putney, in a 
nice first-class carriage, would be quite a treat 
compared to the long weary trudge, in all 
Aveathers, to Belgrave Square. 

Just at this moment Mrs. Green Brown, 
who was very liberal and good-natured, and 
very fond of giving, and who had heard from 
Mrs. Braggc and Betty that Mrs. Blair ex- 
pected company to tea, sent her up a very nice, 
large Madeira cake, and a mould of apricot 
marmalade — made the summer before, imder 
her directions, by Mincing, and which she 
therefore called her own handiwork. Mrs. 
Green Brown was a great hand at preserves. 


She was very fond of all the sweets of life ; 
and her share in the somewhat monotonous 
and wearisome task consisted in looking on, 
tasting, and writing in her own weak, slanting 
hand and peculiar system of orthography the 
name and date of the contents. Mrs. Blair 
smiled to see, on the pink glazed paper that 
covered the pot, written in blue ink — 
" Aprecot Marmalade, 

'' AyustUh, 18—." 
Well, she's very kind and good-natured, if 
she's no great scholar, thought Mrs. Bl^ir, as 
she received the cake, the marmalade, and a 
pretty little cut-glass bowl full of some clotted 
cream which Mrs. Green Brown had just had 
from Devonshire. With these welcome addi- 
tions the tea-table looked so nice that Mrs. 
Blair thought it wanted nothing but her beau- 
tiful Lucy to preside over what novelists call 
" the tea equipage ;" and yet, all things con- 
sidered, it was better Lucy was absent. 
Just as everything was, as Betty said, in 


" apple-pie order," a ring at the door bell 
announced an arrival. Mr. Malmsey loould 
not give a single knock, and did not like to 
give a double one ; he therefore had recourse 
to the bell. 

Betty, with her cherry cheeks and cheriy 
ribbons, her bright yellow dress (a present 
from Mrs. Green Brown), and her round blue 
eyes, black hair, white apron, and red hands, 
was such a bright showy object, particularly 
when she opened her scarlet hps and showed 
ker white teeth (even as Roman pearls from 
ear to ear), that Mr. Malmsey, who, though 
in love with Lucy in particular, was a great 
admirer of the sex in general, smiled and 
bowed while wiping his shoes on the door- 
mat ; and on Betty's saying, " Beautiful out, 
sir," gallantly replied — 

" And in too, miss." 

Mr. Malmsey had arrived m a cab, and liad 
a small hamper with him. As Mr. Malmsey 
had only given '' Cabby" his exact fare, that 


extortioner by nature and habit had declined 
to " lend a hand," muttering, " I ain't one to 
lend a hand ; no, nor give one, neither, to 
any man as ain't no gentleman, which I might 
liave knowed you could not be, master, when 
I took ye up ; for if ye warn't master ye 
must be man, kalias flunkey, but a precious 
old and wicked" one ; and a man of your age 
did ought to know better than to ride in 
'ansome wehicles he can't afford, — there's 
'busses, plenty, for the likes of you !" 

"Shut the door in his face, my pretty 
maid," said Mr. Malmsey. But as Cabby 
was young and handsome, and had nodded 
to Betty, her sympathies were enlisted on the 
side of the offender ; besides, Betty's first 
love had been a cabman, and though he 
proved false, Betty, like a true woman, still 
loved the fraternity for his sake, and it was 
very slowly she shut the door, and very 
reluctantly she helped Mr. Malmsey to carry 
the hamper up to the second floor. 


" Well, I must give you a kiss for your 
pains, my dear," said Mr. Malmsey, when 
they reached the landing — that self-import- 
ant individual entertaining no doubt that Betty 
would highly appreciate the compliment, for, 
as he was generally known to be " well to do," 
he was much spoilt by the maids in the square. 

" Must ye !" said Betty, raising her great, 
red, useful hand. " There's two words to 
that bargain ; as the poor Cabby said, a man 
of your age did ought to know better, but if 
ye don't I'll teach ye. Now, you just try 
it on, that's all." 

" Not for the world, if it's not agreeable, 
miss. I only meant it in the way of civility, 
just to pass the compliment. May I put the 
basket down here for a few minutes?" he 
added, very respectfully. 

*' Put it down there, can't ye?" said Betty, 
very authoritatively, " while I shows you up 
to Mrs. Blair," 




Perhaps Mr. Malmsey had expected some 
great evidences of poverty in Lucy's home, 
and of sickness and wretchedness in Mrs. 
Blair ; for when, with the very vague and 
rather starthng announcement of "The old 
gentleman, mum!'' blundering and rather 
cruel Betty opened the door, and Mr. Malm- 
sey found himself face to face with an ele- 
gant, lady -like Avoman, scarcely middle-aged, 
unmistakeably like Lucy — but paler, sadder, 
and, from her years, more dignified — he felt. 


as lie afterwards said, " ready to sink into his 
shoes ;" those pohsiied highlows, about the 
blacking of which he had been so particular, 
and for a little speck on which he had boxed 
the knife and shoe-boy's ears so soundly I 

" Pray be seated," said Mrs. Blair, motion- 
ing, with her white, wan hand, the perplexed 
butler to a seat. 

Mr. Malmsey was perfectly at his ease 
when, in his own place, talking to a duchess. 
He had never felt shy even if Royalty "called;" 
but he was out of his place now, sitting down 
as an equal with one who, he felt, was, how- 
ever poor, a perfect lady ; and he felt, too, 
that — in spite of the thousands laid by, or 
rather " placed out," which had emboldened 
him to think of Lucy as a w ife — he was not a 

'' Hope I see you quite well, ma'am," he 
exclaimed at last, after a very awkward pause ; 
" I had been given to understand, Mrs. \]\im, 
that you e/fjor/ed very bad 'calth." 


" I was a great invalid when I came to 
London," said Mrs. Blair ; " but I am now 
quite convalescent." 

" Good 'ealth's a very good thing, ma'am. 
I didn't ought to boast, but I haven't taken a 
bottle of doctor's stuff these six year." 

*' You are very fortunate," said Mrs. Blair. 

'* I count myself so, ma'am. It's a great 
trial to a young man to be a-hailing and a- 
hailing ; and if he thinks of settling, ma'am," 
he added, with an almost desperate courage, 
which made him scarlet to the roots of his 
thin, iron-grey hair, " bad 'ealth, ma'am, is a 
bad thing to begin matrimony with ; and it's 
a hard thing to marry a young cretur— a 
young lady, I mean — to make a nurse of 

" I quite agree with you," said Mrs. Blair, 
dreading what was coming next. 

" With your leave, ma'am," said Mr. Malm- 
sey, rising and going to the door, and coming 
back with the basket, '' I've taken the liberty 


of bringing you a couple of spring chickens, 
and a little 'ot-house fruit, and a few flowers. 
Spring chicken's very good in hillness ; and 
grapes is remarkable cooling when one's 
feverish, and has a thirst upon one, Mrs. 

" I am very much obHged to you," said 
Mrs. Blair; " it is a most acceptable present." 
*' They ain't none of your half-starved ones, 
though they're small, Mrs. Blair," said Mr. 
Mahusey, taking out the chickens and pinch- 
ing them. 

*' I never saw nicer," said Mrs., Blair. 
" I'll lay no one ever saw nicer," said Mr. 
Malmsey, " though I says it as shouldn't. 
The grapes are very sweet, ma'am ; and just 
smell that moss-rose." 

" It is exquisite, and at this early season it 
is wonderful !" 

'* Forced, ma'am ! forced, Mrs. Blair ! Our 
people value nothing that's not forced ; and 
I've got something into the same way. When 


I hear the boys calHng * Cowcumbers, three a 
penny!' 'Peas, fourpence a peck!' and 
' Strawberries, threepence a pottle !' it quite 
turns my stomach, ma'am ; 'abit, 'abit, is 
truly said to be second nature, ma'am." 

" Very truly," said Mrs. Blair, rising to 
make the tea. 

" Whenever I see a moss-rose, Mrs. Blair," 
said Mr. Malmsey, looking very bashful, anxi- 
ous to lead the conversation to the object of 
his visit, and really pale and trembling (for he 
was in love), " I think of Miss Lucy, ma'am. 
She's as nice a girl as ever stepped !" 

" She is an excellent daughter to me," said 
Mrs. Blair, the tears rushing to her eyes. 

"A good daughter makes a good wife, 
Mrs. Blair." 

" That is very true," said Mrs. Blair, rather 
posed in her turn, and getting very fidgety. 
" Will you draw near the table, Mr. Malm- 

"Thank you kindly, ma'am. Hope Miss 


Lucy's well. Where does Miss Lucy sit ? 
I wouldn't take her place, ma'am, at your 
table unless I had her leave. If she's at her 
Uoilic/ht, ma'am, I wish you'd 'uny her a bit, 
for my time ain't exactly my own just yet ; 
and I'm sure Miss Lucy don't need no ' foreign 
haid of homament.' She's uncommon 'an- 
some, ma'am. A 'ansome gal's a great charge 
to a mother, Mrs. Blair ; particularly a hin- 
valid. You'd be glad to have her settled 
comfortable in life, Mrs. Blair?" 

" It would be a very great trial to me to 
part with my daughter," said Mrs. Blair, with 
an emotion she could not suppress — (poor 
thing, she was Aveak and nervous still !) — " we 
have never been separated ! She has never 
passed one night in her life from my side !" 

" I assure you, Mrs. Blair, I believe it ! 
I'd be above doubting it. But I can't exactly 
promise you she never shall," cliucklcd Mr. 
Malmsey ; *' 'tain't to be expected of no man ; 
'tain't (as one may say) in human natur', Mrs. 


Blair. But I don't say but what, except for 
a week or two at first — ^whicli there never were 
a mother would grudge that to a young 
couple — I don't see no need to part you. 
Miss Lucy's very young to be at the 'ead of 
anythink in the fust-rate West-end Family 
'otel line; and I don't say, putting feeling 
aside (which in course private feelings never 
does affect business), a sensible, lady-like, 
motherly 'ooman, to help a young think, and, 
as it were, put a old 'ead on young shoulders, 
mightn't have those hinconweniences and im- 
pediments to connubial 'appiness most men 
finds happertaining to a mother-in-law 1" 

Mr. Malmsey was drinking his tea out of 
the saucer, and looking very red and very 
confused while he made this long speech. 

A.S Mrs. Blair, who was uncertain whether 
at once to take it to herself or not, did not 
hasten to reply, Mr. Malmsey proceeded. 

" Shan't I have the honour of seeing Miss 
Lucy, ma'am, before we've got through our 


business ? two 'eads is better than one, but 
three is better than two in such a case as 

"My daughter," said Mrs. Blair, "had an 
appointment in the suburbs, and will not be 
home till late." 

" Ah, poor young think !" said Mr. Malm- 
sey, " I can guess what sort of a happint- 
ment. Well, all that's almost at an end. 
It breaks my 'art, and must that of any feel- 
in' man as respects the sect — which manly 
'arts should guard the fair — to see her in all 
weathers a-knocking at our door, and to see 
her, as seem made to tread on hair, or, at 
wust, on a good Brussels of her own, drove up 
to that bare-floored school-room, often perished 
with the cold. She finds only a frosty recep- 
tion too. My lady's as jealous as jealous, en- 
couraging the young ladies to misbehave ; 
and as to Hannah, our school-room maid, 
she's as pert as pert to Miss Lucy. I tohl 
her once, if slic answered 'miss' so short, I'd 

VOL. r. R 


stand on no repairs, but box her ears for her, 
Avhereiipon she burst out crying ; for she's an 
ambitious, owdacious girl, is that Hannar ! 
all for bettering herself and rising in the 
social scale — and she has set her cap at your 
humble servant, a think not to be looked over 
MS I'm positioned and as she's positioned at 
the H. T.'s."" 

" Will you take any more tea ?" said Mrs. 

"No more, ma*am, thank ye!" said Mr. 
Malmsey, carefully putting his spoon in his 
i'up. " I've made a capital tea — and I don't 
see no good, ma'am, in beating about the 
bush any longer. Miss Lucy have won my 
'art, and Tm here to offer her my 'and. I've 
iive thousand pounds ' put out,' and eight 
hundred by me. I've a fust-rate West-end 
Family 'otel in view, and if Miss Lucy is 
willing, she'll be kept like a lady, have no- 
tliing to do but what a lady would hke to do, 
and be drest in the best, and live on the best. 


I know of a very smart piano, new done up 
with fluted crimson silk, and a stool and 
' what-not' to match, going a bargain, and I've 
booked it, in my own mind, for Miss Lucy. 
She'll find it a great change, ma'am, and, 
excuse my saying so, a great rise in the social 

Mrs. Blair tried to speak, but she felt so 
mortified at the idea that it should be con- 
sidered a rise in the social scale for her deli- 
cate, elegant, Lucy to become Mrs. Malmsey, 
that tears choked her utterance, and she could 
not articulate. 

Mr. Malmsey mistook her emotion. 

" I understand your feelings, ma'am, but I 
'ain't a brute, not exactly ; no, nor a tyrant ; 
I honour human natur. I wouldn't be the 
man to part you. I wish you didn't enjoy 
such very bad 'ealth ; but Lor, ma'am, good 
luck and good living iniglit make a cliange ; 
and good will, wliicii \\\\ sure wouhhi't be 
wanting on your side, goes a gre;it way. 

K 2 


'Tain't as if any think menial or lioiit of the 
way would be required of you ; and, of course, 
I'm only speaking from my 'art, and, in course, 

not binding myself; but " 

" But if you were," said Mrs. Blair, fairly 
roused, " it would be of no consequence. I 
am sure you mean well, Mr. Malmsey, and I 
ought to feel obliged to you for your kind sen- 
timents towards Miss Blair; but as she is, 
in spite of our present reduced circumstances, 
born and bred a lady — in short, as her father 
was an officer of a very ancient and affluent 
family, and as the time may come when that 
family will recognize my daughter's claims, I 
must, in her name, refuse the offer, which I 
own, as matters stand at present, is a kind 
and liberal one." 

Mr. Malmsey turned red, blue, purple, and, 
finally, very pale. He stared, stammered, 
and at last exclaimed, " You can't mean, Mrs. 
Blair, that you'll stand in your own daughter's 
light to that extent, as you're positioned too ?" 


" I mean," said Mrs. Blair, " that even if I 
approved of you as a suitor for my daughter's 
hand, nothing would induce Miss Blair to 
listen to you for a moment ; and if she were 
disposed (which I know to be impossible) to 
encourage your hopes, I, as her mother, 
should forbid her to do so." 

" You would, ma'am ! And you've the 
face, in your circumstances, to sit there and 
tell an honest man, worth six thousand 
pounds, that you'd rather see your daughter 
a beggarly daily governess than mistress of 
what, I daresay, would soon be the fust family 
'otel in the West-end." 

" Yes," said Mrs. Blair ; " I think her pre- 
sent position less derogatory to her than that 
which you offer, — and I know she is of the 
same opinion." 

"Well, ma'am," said Mr. Malmsey, "if 
you don't know on which side your bread's 
buttered, Mrs. Blair, 1 hope Miss Lucy do. 
1 shan't take my answer but from her lips. 


Pride's bad enough where there's wealth to 
back it, as there is at ours ; but pride and 
.^verty ! it makes my 'air stand a hend, and 
my heart ache. I wish you a good evening, 
ma'am ; and I mean no offence when I say I 
hope you'll think better of it, and not try to 
set Miss Lucy again' me, and make her quarrel 
with her bread and butter, Mrs. Blair !" 

Here his voice grew husky, tears filled his 
eyes, a choking sob heaved his broad breast 
with its snow-white " dickey" and large gold 
studs ; and, but for a violent effort, Mr. 
Malmsey would have wept aloud. 

" I am very, very sorry that you have taken 
this fancy to my daughter," said Mrs. Blair, 
moved by his distress ; " but you, with your 
advantages, Mr. Malmsey, your prospects, 
and your six thousand pounds, will not have 
long to look for a wife." 

" Long to look, Mrs. Blair ! No ! I can 
look higher in the social scale, a precious deal, 
and not look in vain ! A beneficed clergy- 


man's widow for one, an officer's daughter, an 
alderman's cousin, and an M.P.'s aunt, to say- 
nothing of soKcitors' and surgeons' daughters 
— half-a-dozen — fine gals, too ! I might 
choose among twenty. But oh ! Mrs. Blair, my 
'art's Miss Lucy's. I've thought of nothing 
else since the first day she knocked at ' ours,' 
her little trembling knock, for her dear little 
hand was numbed with cold, Mrs. Blair. 1 
never had a doubt she'd accept me. It's a 
cruel blow, a very cruel blow ; and what aggra- 
vates it is, that I'm sure if you and she did the 
thing that is right, you'd not spurn a good 
husband for her and a good friend for both 
of you, mind — both of you. / wouldn't part 
you; and you wouldn't drive an honest man, 
that wished you both well, to twine the wilier 
round a broken heart ! " 

Mr. Malmsey then took his leave; and 
Mrs. Blair shed a few tears, half of mortified 
pride and half of womanly sympathy, for this 
coarse but real love. 



Betty's star in the ascendant. 

Betty, who was lying in wait to have a 
httle joke with Mr. Mahnsey, whom she 
did not altogether dishke, and on Avhom her 
kind heart suggested she had been too sharp, 
saw him, his red silk pocket-handkerchief to 
his face, and his broad chest heaving with 
convulsive sobs. Betty had on her bonnet ; 
she was going on an errand in Pimlico for 
Mrs. Green Brown. Betty did not know the 
cause of Mr. Malmsey's grief, but she saw 


he was in grief, and that was enough for 

*' Wiiat's the matter, sir?" she said, kindly. 
" What can a fine-looking, free gentleman Hke 
you, with plenty of money to ride in cabs and 
make presents, and dress so nice, have to fret 
about ? If it was a poor gal like me, w4th 
lots of work and very low wages, up early and 
late, and four breakfasts, dinners, and teas to 
get, besides three suppers, and no flowers or 
followers allowed, no parquisites, no bones, no 
kitchen fat, not a candle-end, no hare or 
rabbit skins — (missus sells them all herself) — 
and only missus's tea-pot after she's done, 
and only half a pint of very small beer — and 
you'll scarcely believe it, sir, only one Sunday 
evening out a month — she might take on. 
Come, tell me what's your troubles." 

"Are you going far, miss?" sobbed Mr. 

"I'm going as far as a florist's in Bclgravc 
Road, for the fust floor." 


" Well," said Mr. Malmsey, " I'm going to 
Belgrave Square myself. I never walk. I'll 
give you a lift, if you like, and be glad of 
your company, for I'm so unhappy, I'm not 
fit to be alone !" 

As he spoke, a cab passed ; he hailed it, 
and handed Bettv in. It was a nice, new 
cab, and Betty-, in great deHght, first leaning 
back, and dancing herself up and down on the 
elastic cushion, said, '' Sir, this is nice ! Well, 
I'm in luck, any way 1 Come, do have a 
pleasant countenance, and let's enjoy our- 
selves — 'tain't often I gets a treat." 

" I cannot be merry." 

"Why not, sir?" 

" I'm crossed in love, my girl !" 

" Poor dear," said Betty, " I can feel for 
you ; I wor the same oust, and now I hates 
the feller. I'd as soon come anigh pison, yet 
oust I had made up my mind to make away 
with myself. I wor regular crossed in love, 
and no mistake !" 


"Tell me all about it, miss," said Mr. 
Malmsey; "perhaps it'll do me good.'' 

" No, you tell your story first," said Betty, 
who, with her sex's tact, knew how soon love 
sorrows evaporate in words. 

Mr. Malmsey saw Betty to the florist's in 
the Belgrave Road, and part of the way back, 
and he found such comfort in her straight- 
forward, matter-of-fact sympathy, that hearing 
her monthly Sunday out was fast approaching 
— indeed, in three days — he offered to treat 
her, by steam, to Kew ; herself, her bosom 
friend and that friend's young man. 

" Lor, how Nancy '11 laugh to see that I've 
got a young man too," said Betty. In Betty's 
rank in life, a girl's " young man," like a 
])os,t-dot/, or a French gargon, may have reached 
his grand climacteric. " My young man's 
not in earnest, though," she added, witli 
a sigh. 

And as she smiled honestly in his face, as 
she said " good-bye," and thanked him for 

:^d2 the daily governess. 

liis '' nice ride," Mr. Malmsey began, like 
many another disappointed lover, to find that 
the human heart may be caught on the re- 
bound, and that, unlike some railway tickets, 
it is transferable. 



THE mother's watch. 

The evening closed in, and Mrs. Blair, 
seeing it was getting dark and late, began 
to be very anxious. But Lucy had told her 
not to be uneasy if she were delayed ; and 
she tried not to be so. 

By eight o'clock the little supper was ready; 
one of the chickens, so nicely roasted, with 
bread sauce, and mashed potatoes, the cake, 
the "aprecot marinelade," the clotted crcaiu, 
and some excellent tea aiid toast. 

How provokingi everything woukl be spoiU; 


the cliickens and the potatoes were consigned 
to Mrs. Bragge's oven, and Mrs. Blair, with 
a heart now sinking very low, now beating 
wild and high, stood leaning out of the win- 
dow, and gazing on the wet and dreary 

" Lor, Mrs. Blair," said Betty; "how late 
Miss Lucy is, "to be sure ! Sure, nothink can 
have 'appened to her ! — but I always 'ad a 
'orror of them ingines, since a huncle of mine 
wor killed on the Great Western !" 

" How was he killed, Betty ?" gasped Mrs. 

" Crushed, ma'am, crushed as I've seen 
cruel boys crush a snail ! He wor a stoker, 

ye see, ma'am " 

" Oh, he was a stoker — thank heaven !" 
" And give to drink." 

" Thank heaven !" repeated Mrs. Blair. 
''At least, Betty, I only mean that if he was 
a stoker and a drunkard, his having been 
killed might have been owing- 


" It wor owing to himself. There never 
was such a parwarse, irregular, contrary old 
man horned. Even mother, after a bit, owned 
it was all for the best ; and it certainly was a 
good riddance !" 

" Hark, it is striking nine !" 

To those who have watched, it is well knoAvn 
liow rapidly the hours pass when we dread 
their doing so. 

" La, ma'am, you're going to faint !" said 
Betty, catching the poor mother in her strong 
arms, and uttering such piercing screams, 
that Mrs. Bragge rushed up from her cold 
j)ork and porter, and Mrs. Green Brown, in a 
pink cashmere wrapper, trimmed with swan- 
down, a gold girdle, and a donnet a la 
jolie fcinme, from her rosewood desk and 
" Canto." 

A little brandy, a vinaigrette, and a recum- 
bent position, brought Mrs. Blair to her senses, 
but with her senses her agony of terror re- 
turned. Betty, of her own accord, ran to the 


station to inquire if there had been any acci- 
dent to a Putney train. 

Mrs. Bragge did her best to comfort ; only, 
with the want of tact and love for the horrible 
common to the vulgar, she would torture the 
poor mother with prophecies of evil and ac- 
counts of horrible accidents by rail. 

While Mrs." Green Brown was full of the 
hair-breadth 'scapes to which her beauty had 
exposed her, and suggested to Mrs. Blair's 
mind perils which, ludicrous as connected with 
Mrs. Green Brown, might, in Lucy's case, be 
as real and more terrible than those Betty had 
conjured up, the clock of St. Clement's struck 
ten, and Mrs. Blair, beside herself with terror," 
was just resolving to rush out and go herself 
to Putney and " The Willows" — Mrs. Green 
Brown (who doted on adventures) offering 
to go with her — when a oab stopped at the 
door. A thundering knock resounded through 
the house. 

A light step was on the stairs, a dear voice 


was heard in anxious inquiry, and the next 
minute the mother clasped to her poor, beat- 
ing heart her Lucy, drenched with rain, 
wet to the skin, her long hair streaming, 
her bonnet a wreck ; but her eyes sparkling, 
her cheeks flushed with the purple light of 
love, her pretty lips dimpled Avith her heart's 
gladness, and a merry laugh bursting from 
her glad bosom as she said, turning to a 
gentleman, also wet through, who stood in 
the door-way — 

"Dearest mamma, thank my preserver! 
thank Mr. Henry Greville !" 

Mrs. Blair held out her hand, which Mr. 
Greville took with respectful cordiality ; and 
while Mrs. Blair listened to the brief sketch 
Lucy gave of her terrible adventure at " The 
Willows," her rescue, the storm on the water, 
the dangers of the dark hour, tlie landing 
at Whitehall, and the hurried drive hom&, 
Mrs. Green Brown, caring for no adventures 

VOL. I. s 


of which she was not the heroine, sank on 
the sofa, murmuring — 

" The friend of Cecil Sydney ! the bosom 
friend of Cecil ! Now, then, shall I know 
his fate — the fate of a true friend ! Little 
fluttering heart, be still ; perhaps there is 
comfort in store for thee T 




While Mrs. Green Brown was indulging in 
her sentimental reveries, Henry Greville had 
faintly proposed to take his leave. 

" Can you not stay and share tlie little 
supper that has so long been waiting for 
Lucy?" asked Mrs. Blair. 

" Oh, do 1" said Lucy ; and then, the next 
nionient, remembering how wet he must be, 
she said, " no, do not, Mr. Greville, you will 
be sure to take cold !" 

*' And so will you, Miss Blair," answcreil 

s 2 


llenry Greville. *' But if you will allow me 
as long to change my things as you will re- 
i[\me to change your own, and will let me be 
of your little supper party if I am in good 
time, I will rush to my lodgings in Pall Mall 
East, and be here as soon as any of you." 
" A bargain," laughed Lucy. 
And, " A -bargain !" sighed Mrs. Green 
Brown. " I, too, vrill repair to my toilet ;" 
but she added, soito voce, *' How one feels 
one's charms thrown away, when the one in 
whose eyes one would gladly die to shine, is 
withheld by an envious fate from the presence 
of the angel of his dreams, the idol of his 
heart, the heaven of his fancy. Still, I will 
adorn my beauty, for Greville is his friend ; 
and his opinion will influence my Sydney. 
Men are such imitative creatures, so prone to 
bow at one shrine, to follow where one leads. 
White muslin and blue ribands will be simple 
and becoming for this demi'toilette occa- 


Mrs. Green Brown rose, and saying to Mrs. 
Blair, " I shall be with you as soon as I am 
fit to be seen !" she hurried back to her own 

Mrs. Blair had not had any intention of 
inviting Mrs. Green Brown ; but, as she liad 
invited herself, there was nothing to be done. 
She had shared the anxiety and the watch. 
It would be unkind and ungracious to exckule 
her from the rejoicing. 

While Mrs. Green Brown was putting the 
finishing touches to her toilet, and before 
Lucy had dried and re-arranged her long 
and lustrous hair, a cab drove up to the 

" There he is," cried Mrs. Green Brown, 
hastily softening off an eye-brow, and (h'aw- 
ing on her gloves. 

A loud double knock resounded through 
the house. Tlie windows shook, the glasses 
on ^Irs. Bragge's sideboard trembled, and so 
did Lucy's heart and hand. 


" I shall never be ready, niamma," she 
died : " I am so chilled I can scarcely insert 
a pin or fasten a hook." 

" The more haste the less speed/' says the 
old proverb, and that night Lucy proved its 

Mrs. Green Brown had darted up stairs to 
have a little serious talk with her Cecil's 
" friend." She wanted to know many parti- 
culars connected with him — his income, his 
prospects, his tastes, his circumstances — 
Avhat style of beauty he admired. " Of 
coiu-se," she said, '' as I am only separated, not 
divorced, I can only indulge Cecil and myself 
in a platonic attachment at present ; but, if I 
ever am a widoAV, how proud I should be to 
endow my Cecil with all the wealth that 
monster, Green Brown, cannot caiTy out of the 
world with him, and which nuist be mine, in 
addition to the large income I already enjoy." 
Thinking thus, she hurried up into Mrs. 


Blair's sitting room, to make a favom-able 
impression on Cecil Sydney's friend, and 
found herself face to face with Cecil Sydney 




The extraordinary circumstance of Cecil 
Sydney's appearance was accounted for by the 
fact that Le Furet, his valet, on his return 
home to his master's lodgings, had found him 
— just arrived in town — in deep mourning, 
and in no very pleasant mood, for the death 
of his father, who had always been so liberal 
to him, had left him dependent on his 
brother, the new earl. — Now the new earl, 
very stingy and very plain, had always dis- 
liked the handsome spendthrift coxcomb, who, 


though a younger son, indulged m all those 
expensive pleasures which the heir to the 
earldom denied himself. 

Cecil, it was true, had been provided for, 
among other children, in the countess's mar- 
riage-settlement ; but he had fallen among 
thieves, alias usurers, and he had long since 
sold all reversions and life-interests in every- 
thing he had to look to ! 

He had had a very humiliating interview 
with his brother, who vowed he would not 
assist him unless he shaved off his moustache 
SLndjeune France, returned to Oxford, took his 
degree, entered the Church, and fitted himself 
to hold the family living. If he declined, he 
might go through the Insolvent Court, or to 
the diggings, the Earl cared not ! The rage 
and despair caused by the sense of his desti- 
tute and perilous condition (for he was dec])ly 
in debt) was not diminished by Le Furet's 
graphic account of Ilcnry Greville's rescue of 
Lucy Blair. 


He insisted on knowing where Lucy re- 
sided, and, perfectly reckless as to conse- 
quences, when he found from Le Euret that 
Greville was dressing to return and sup with 
the rescued Lucy and her mother, he resolved 
to be of the party ; and if he thought Lucy 
as pretty as ever, he would tax him with his 
treachery, confront and quarrel with him. 
Cecil Sydney's love of the ridiculous, how- 
ever, overpowered every other feeling when 
Mrs. Green Brown commenced bringing to 
bear upon him all the artilleiy of, what she 
considered, her charms. 

From her conversation, her dress, and her 
languishing glances, Cecil Sydney made sure 
she was a widow ; and the thought that, per- 
haps, if she were wealthy, and so charmed with 
him, she might lend him a sum, or, at least, 
her name to raise one, crossed his mind, as 
the fire-light flashed on a brilliant of value 
which she wore on one of her fat, short, 
little fingers. 


" That diamond matches the bright eyes of 
the Avearer," said Cecil. " It is one of the 
tirst water." 

" It is better suited to a gentleman than a 
lady," said Mrs. Green Brown. " Let me see 
it on your aristocratic hand, my Honourable 
Cecil Sydney." 

Mrs. Green Brown was very generous, very 
fond of giving, and she liked to be thanked. 

Cecil tried it on. 

" Accept it," she said, '' as a little token of 
great regard." 

"Impossible," said Cecil. ''Why, it's 
worth " 

" About two hundred pounds," said Mrs. 
Green Brown. 

" Then it's worth a great deal more than I 
am !" said Cecil, bitterly. 

" lias not your Pa'r acted handsomely by 
you, sir ?" said the lady. 

''Oh, my poor father!" said Cecil, teai-s 
hlluig his eyes, " he was only too good, too 


generous to me ; but my brother's an iiiimiti- 
gated brute ! A great screw, too ! and, there- 
fore, I am a beggar." 

" Not while you have a wealthy sister," said 
Mrs. Green Brown. 

" I have no sister — I never had !" 

"You have one now — one who will be 
proud to be your banker, too !" 

" Upon my word, you're veiy kind ; will 
you lend me your name to raise a thousand 
pounds on bill ?" 

" I will lend you the money, that will be 
much better," said the lady — " on one con- 
dition, though — that you never again put the 
name of the Honourable Cecil Sydney to a 
vile biU." 

" Agreed," said Cecil. " I make that 
sacrifice to friendship and to you. No great 
one either," he thought, " since there isn't 
a Jew left who'd advance me sixpence on 

'' Call to-morrow on me, — Mrs. Green 


Brown, the first floor here, and you shall have 

" You are a trump/* murmured Cecil, in a 
paroxysm of gratitude, kissing the hand she 
extended to him. 

At that moment Henry Greville came in. 

Cecil, quite heedless of the presence of 
Mrs. Green Brown, taxed his friend with the 
advantage he had taken of his confidence. 

Henry Greville defended himself Avarmly. 

Mrs. Green Brown acted as a peace-maker, 
and suggested that the preference of the lady 
herself should decide which was to be the 
favoured suitor. 

Cecil thought of the thousand pounds, and 
bowed to Mrs. Green Brown's decision. 




At length Lucy came in, Ijlushing, her 
eves downcast, radiant with that exquisite 
bloom first love imparts to youthful beauty. 
A light muslin floated around her sylph-like 
form, and a few bows, couleur de rose, 
matched the delightful emotions translated 
on her peach-like cheek. Mrs. Blair was 
very cold and stiff to the intruder Cecil ; and 
Lucy was as forbidding as she could be to 
any one. Henry Greville had to excuse, and 
introduce him as Ids friend. But Cecil felt 


decidedly de irojj as far as Lucy was con- 
cerned, and but for Mrs. Green Brown, and 
the vision of the thousand pounds, he would 
have wished himself anywhere else. 

Dignified, gentle, and reserved as was 
Lucy, no one could have seen her without 
perceiving that she loved ; and no one could 
have heard her voice, or beheld her blush 
when addressing Henry Greville, or noted 
the soft flutter of her bosom, and the love- 
light in her violet eyes, without perceiving 
that he whom she loved was Henry Greville. 
And Greville's manner, thorough-bred as he 
was, had in it a tender deference, a chivalrous 
courtesy, a sweet officiousness, and a soft 
humility, which revealed to the observer the 
manly devotion of his heart, Cecil, who was 
not all evil, perceiving this, forgave his friend. 

'' I only meant her to amuse an idle hour," 
he said to himself ; "but Henry Greville evi- 
dently meditates that desperate step — mar- 
rying on nothing. Well, that folly carries its 


punishment with it ; so I won't add my 
resentment to the evils he will entail on him- 
self. He may marry for love if he will ; I 
can't afford such folly, I'll marry for money. 
Green Brown really is a fine woman, and so 
good-humoured ! I wonder what her fortune 
is ! Well, she's younger and handsomer 

than was Mrs. C , when the Duke of 

married her ; and she's an angel to that 

poor Mrs. L , wdiom her brute of a 

husband used to fleece first and horsewhip 
afterwards. I've a great mind to propose to 
her. My wretched 'honourable' would be 
everything to her, and she'll save me from 
having ' gloomy dis' prefixed to it. What 
a fool Greville is ! That comes of read- 
ing, writing poetry, and being a man of 
feeling. Oh, what a great comfort that 
thousand will be to me 1" 

The clock struck one, before Lucy and 
Henry thought half an hour had passed ; and 
while Mrs. Green Brown was planning how 


to introduce a recitation from her poem — 
" Canto/' as Mincing called it — Cecil started 
up, and Henry Greville rose to accompany 
him ; Lucy smiled, but to conceal a sigh ; 
Mrs. Green Brown sighed, but a smile 
danced in her turquoise eyes and on her 
tinted lips. 

Cecil made to Mrs. Blair, for his intrusion, 
an apology so respectful, that she, amiable, 
forgiving creature ! was quite appeased ; and 
the young men departed together the best 
friends in the AA^orld. 

Henry Greville owned to Cecil that ho 
thought of telling his kind aunt, Lady Sarah, 
of his having at last fallen really in love, and 
with the best, loveliest, sweetest girl in the 
world, adding, " She's such a ricli romantic 
old soul, she covdd enable me to marry Lucy 
at once." 

And Cecil added, " The day you marry for 
love, Hal, I marry for money. But I won't 
trust you again, lest you steal a marcli upon 

VOL. I. T 


me once more. But, I say, Hal, what of the 
rouge, the false tooth, that billet-doux of Sir 
Jasper's ?" 

" There's some mystery there, Cis," said 
Henry. " No one who sees the roseate bloom 
come and go on my Lucy's transparent cheek 
can believe foul art ever sullied her beauty ; 
and as to that fang, why, in her little rose- 
bud mouth it would look like the tusk of a 
boar ; while, with regard to Sir Jasper's hillet- 
doux, when I have told you my adventures of 
this very day, you'll see how likely it is that 
Lucy ever received and treasured up a lillet- 
doux from that brute! No, there's some 
mystery there ; perhaps the dress was her 
mother's. Perhaps — let me see. Sir Jasper 
Malvoisin is a favoured beau of Lady Hamil- 
ton Treherne's ; Lucy told me that dress we 
first saw her in was one lent her by her lady- 
ship one day that she was wet through. I 
have it, Cis, by Jove, I have it ! Eureka, 
eureka ! There was a packet in that dress, 


forgotten by Lady Hamilton, unsuspected by 
Lucy Blair, and those odious contents and 
that detestable billet-doux were Lady Hamil- 

"I daresay you are right," said Cecil. 
''But I see Lucy loves you, and that you 
adore her ; so all I have to do is to wish you 
joy, though, if you ask me my advice about 
marrying, I should say with Punch, ' Don't.' " 




Two weeks have passed away since that 
liappy evening when Henry Greville felt for 
the first time the luxury of being loved, and 
that greater still, of loving. 

Mrs. Green Brown, engrossed by her pla- 
tonic attachment for Cecil Sydney, saw nothing 
])ut himself and herself, and young love was 
so shy, and Henry Greville so timid and re- 
spectful, that even ]\Irs. Blair did not know 
how matters stood. Several times he had met 
Lucy on her way to and from the Hamilton 


Treliernes; several times he had spent the even- 
ing with her mother and herself. One bright 
day he told her he loved her, and he offered 
her his hand, promising to call on his romantic, 
old aunt, Lady Sarah, to beg her, as she was 
such a friend to love-matches, to patronize his 
and enable him to enjoy love in a cottage witli 
Lucy till something turned up. Lucy agreed 
to await Lady Sarah's consent before she 
spoke to her mamma on the subject. 

After her perilous excursion to " The Wil- 
lows," and her almost miraculous escape from 
worse than death, Lucy determined 

*' Rather to bear the ills she had, 
Than fly to others that she knew not of." 

What risk had she not run in the vain effort 
to better her condition ? Henceforth she re- 
solved to make the best of what fate had as- 
signed her — a situation that enabled her to 
reside with her beloved mother in tolcrabli' 
comfort, to bi; of some use in forming the 
little Hamilton Treherncs' minds, hearts and 


manners on the model of her own, and more 
tlian all, an occupation that filled up with 
active employment the weary, dreary hours 
that must separate her from happiness and 
Henry Greville ! 

Sir Jasper Malvoisin recovered from the 
terrible and dangerous illness caused by his 
evil passions ' and sudden immersion in the 
river on the night of Lucy's escape. But he 
never was the same man again, a thing not to 
be deplored, for he could not be a worse one. 
He never regained his spirits or his embonpoint. 
He sunk into a shriveled, palsied, bent old 
]nan. All his artificial charms were laid aside. 
Vanity was dead in his heart. Perhaps the 
blow dealt it by Lucy had killed it. Instead 
of that golden Hyperion fabric, his wig 
(which, like himself, never recovered from the 
effects of that mud bath on the banks of the 
Thames), he took to a night-cap that came 
under his chin. His dental triumphs were 
discarded ; a wrapper and slippers replaced 


his choice and brilliant attire. He let " The 
Willows," and retired to Bath ; there, in a 
Avheel chair in the day-time, and an easy chair 
at night, Sir Jasper Malvoisin shakes his pal- 
sied head, and dreams or dozes away his use- 
less life. He is abandoned to servants, who 
are often very cruel to him ; but he has no 
relatives, and the loicked never have any trite 

Lady Hamilton Treherne had called on him 
once before he forsook " The Willows," but she 
soon left him in a paroxysm of disgust and 
indignation ; and as she was that sort of vain, 
idle, coquettish woman who cannot live with- 
out the attentions and flatteries of some male 
flirt, she transferred her regard to a shewy 
Polish count, and became enthusiastic in the 
cause of Poland and the Poles. 

Her feelings towards Lucy Blair had, since 
Sir Jasper left the field, settled into a 
cold and haughty indift'erence. Count Hum- 
buganowski, who was superbly handsome — 


moustached, braided, jewelled, and decore — 
had not, like Sir Jasper, an eye and a sigh for 
beauty whenever it crossedhis path. He seemed 
never to perceive any charms but those of 
Lady Hamilton Treherne. His fated country 
and his enchanting friend appeared to engross 
all his thoughts. '' Barbarous Russia," he 
said, " had stiipped him of all but his honom-, 
his name, and his hereditary jewels, but 
atoning Fate had given him a friend." 

And that friend gave him everything else 
he needed. She, by delicate anonymous gifts, 
filled his purse. In the same manner she re- 
plenished his wardrobe. She had ever a place 
in her carriage, and at her table, for that noble, 
virtuous, heroic martyr, Humbuganowski, the 
hero of Warsaw. He not only did not admire 
Lucy, he spoke of her with contempt ; and 
Lady Hamilton Treherne gloried in her new 
admirer, and ceased to regret one whom slie 
called that poor old wreck, Sir Jasper. 




Henry Greville was as good as his word. 
He called on his old aunt, Lady Sarah. Pie 
told her he was desperately in love, and the 
romantic old soul listened with rapture to his 
adnnssion of the irresistible power of that sex 
to which she was, as she said, proud to be- 
long, and of which she considered herseU' an 
ornament. He described Lucy's youth, 
beauty, accomphshmcnts, and virtues — and 
Lady Sarah positively longed for her acquaint- 


He owned his lovely Lucy had not a penny. 
Even that did not cool the old lady's ardour, 
nor destroy her interest in Lucy. He said he 
was resolved to marry her coitte que coilte, and 
the old matchmaker's eyes sparkled, for she 
was a matchmaker for others, and so is almost 
every woman who is too old to be trying to 
make a match for herself. 

" You might live with me, you turtle doves!" 
she said, "until you can get some appointment, 

Harry kissed her hand, and tears came in 
his eyes. 

" And now," said the old lady, " tell me her 
surname, who she is, and all about her. I 
think I can guess — the description, allowing a 
little for the exaggeration of love, answers well. 
I've heard you were often there ! Come, out 
with it ! own the truth. It's Serina de 
Beauregard, the poor ruined Duke's portion- 
less niece !" 

Poor Harry ! when he was obliged to con- 


fess that instead of this penniless aristocrat, 
living on her friends till she could get some 
one to take her off their hands, the object of 
his love was a nobody, and worse still, a no- 
body exerting her talents for the support of 
her mother and herself — a poor Lucy Blair, 
a daily governess in the family of a woman 
whom Lady Sarah knew, visited, and especially 
disliked, her indignation knew no bounds. 

" I suppose this is some impertinent hoax 
planned by you and that scapegrace friend and 
crony of yours, Cecil Sydney," she said, draw- 
ing herself up. " But you'd better not play 
off your pranks on me, sir, I can tell you. 
Do you think I believe that you have any 
serious intention of marrying a paid domestic 
of Lady Hamilton Treherne's ? You have not 
been so long on intimate terms with all the 
greatest roues of the age, to be such a Simple 
Simon as that ; and if the girl's a good indus- 
trious girl, and you have meditated any vile de- 
ception, and want to make me a party to it, I'll 


just tell you this, sir : I had made you my sole 
heir and sole executor, but, unless you give 
up all thought of this poor young creatm^e in 
any way, I'll leave all I possess to public 
charities, and bequeath you nothing but this 
copy of ' The Whole Duty of Man,' to teach 
you yours, sir. No, not even five guineas 
to buy a ring 1" 

" Hov^ prejudiced, how unjust is this, dear 
aunt," said Harry. " You would have con- 
sented to my marrying Serina de Beauregard, 
who is a notorious flirt and husband-hunter ; 
though I own she is a beautiful and accom- 
plished girl ; she has not a penny, and is yet 
most fearfully in debt ; dresses extravagantly, 
and yet lives on her friends, and will marry 
for a home and a position ; and you are furious 
at the idea of poor Lucy Blair, though she is 
of gentle blood, because she has the spirit, 
energy, talent, and filial affection to work 
hard to maintain her mother and herself. — 
Now, is this reasonable ? is it kind ? is it 


just ? A governess is not a domestic, dear 
aunt !" 

" I don't care what she is. She is not a 
person that you or any gentleman ought to 
marry ; and, as I said before, if you either 
marry or betray this girl, whom I acknowledge 
to be a very meritorious person, in her way, 
I shall not leave you one penny ! And now I 
am going out, and don't want to detain you. 
You have made me feel very nervous, and 
very hysterical. Ring for my maid, and don't 
let me see you again until you are wilHng to 
promise me that you will not persecute this 
poor, good, little daily governess with any 
proposals of any kind." 

"Then, aunt, it Avill be very long before 
you see me again," said Henry Greville, rising 
in great wrath, and taking his hat. 

" The longer the better," replied Lady 
Sarah. — And so they parted. 

Then turning back, Henry added: — "Do 
not insult hej' virtue or my lionour, Lady 


Sarah, by supposing it possible I could make 
her any but one proposal, namely, a proposal 
of marriage — and that one I shall and will 
make her !" 

" Leave my house, ungrateful, impertinent 
idiot !" cried the old lady in a violent rage, 
furiously ringing the bell. 




Poor Lucy, having, as we have said, nothing 
better in view for the present, was obhged to 
return to her mortifying, wearing duties at 
Lady Hamilton Treherne's. 

The dread of their father protected her from 
violent acts of rebellion, personal outrage, and 
positive impertinence ; but the whole story of 
the ])Ook thrown at her head, of Sir George's 
interference, and of the chastisement inflicted 
on the little culprit, had been conveyed with 
manv exaggerations to Lady Hamilton Trc- 


heme. Her jealous rage and spite knew no 
bounds. The idea that her little darling had 
been severely whipped by the generally invi- 
sible papa, merely for an offence against that 
" chit of a daily governess ;" why, it proved 
that the influence of her envied grace and 
beauty was extending even to the coldest of 
cold natures; and thawing that ice of reserve 
which Lady Hamilton Treherne herself had 
never been able, in the least, to dissolve, either 
by her sunniest smiles or her most passionate 

At one time Lady Hamilton Treherne had 
loved Sir George with that violent, almost in- 
sane passion, which a haughty, reserved nature, 
in a very handsome and intellectual man, does 
inspire in a warm and passionate woman. But 
she had never succeeded in making him re- 
spond to the violence of her passion. 

He was, even at that time, distantly polite, 
moderately attentive, seldom at home, and as 
studiously avoiding tcte-a-tetes with her as she 


was eao;er in contrivino; them with him. He^ 
passionate love wore itself out, but it left a 
morbid jealousy and a bitter grudge behind. 
Her hatred of the '' minx/' the " chit," the 
" nobody," in whose cause he had roused 
himself from his self-centred pride, knew no 
bounds. She did not car€ what trouble she 
took, what inconvenience she suffered to annoy 
and to humble poor Lucy. 

She resolved to be present during the whole 
time of Lucy's daily attendance, and to preside 
too at the children's dinner. Cold, cutting, 
sarcastic, full of implied censure and bitter 
inuendoes, and her daughters, as far as they 
dared, taking their tone from her, Lucy's situ- 
ation was a perfect martyrdom. 

The misery she suffered robbed her cheek 
of its envied bloom, her smile of its dimpled 
fascination, her eyes of their lustre, for she 
wept often and slept little, and even the 
roundness of her sylph-like form was begimiing 
to yield to an angulai' tlniin{\ss, which it de- 

VOL. I. u 


lighted her tyrant to perceive. Yes, all these 
changes delighted the cruel woman of the 
world, and the absence of Sir George enabled 
her to carry out her system of torture. And 
it is a perpetual torture to a generous, sensitive, 
affectionate nature, to live in an atmosphere 
of enmity and malignant ill-will. The Hamil- 
ton Trehernes' grand house in Belgrave Square, 
became to poor Lucy as odious as the Bastille 
must have been to its innocent victims. 

Mr. Malmsey never opened the door to her 
now, though occasionally he met her 'in the 
passage, and acknowledged her proximity by a 
cold haughty nod ; the tall footman did cer- 
tainly open the door, but not till he had 
allowed her often twice to repeat her timid 
mutilated double knogk. On his rosy,, well- 
fed face there w^as a covert sneer, and Jeames 
(my lady's own footman) added occasionally a 
grin and a stare. 

Lucy felt ashamed of herself for allowing 
trifles so contemptible tft make her heart swell, 


her cheeks burn, and her hot tears fill lier 
eyes ; but she was only seventeen, and even 
great and potent men, ere this, have paled before 
the yell or jeer of a mob, and those fellows, in 
spite of their silk stockings, powder, tags, 
and sticks, were originally of those items 
that form a mob ; and in spite of her resolu- 
tion, when, as she moved on to that chamber 
of torture, the school- room, she heard Jeames 
and Tomlinsons's loud laugh of derision, 
mixed with the giggle of Hannah and some 
other maids, and caught the words-, *^ that ert; 
pompious stuck-up Blair 1" she felt impelled 
to throw up her odious employment, and 
nothing but filial love and the dread of her 
mother's coming to want, made her endure 
the protracted agonies of so many successivt? 

To Lady Hamilton Trehcrne'& natural in< 
difference to the feelings of others, and her 
instinctive hatred for, and jealousy of, Ijicy, 
were added extreme mortification jind annoy- 


ance at Sir Jasper's protracted and unexplained 

She somehow associated Lucy (though she 
herself scarce knew how) with this inexpli- 
cable slight to her attractions ; and as the poor 
girl both blushed, paled, and trembled at any 
allusion to that cruel, daring profligate, Lady 
Hamilton Treherne felt certain there was some 
secret between Sir Jasper and poor Lucy 
Blair. Woman of the world as she was, she 
had a tolerably correct notion of how matters 
stood between them. She suspected that, 
inconstant, dissipated and very vain, he 
had made some overtures which she felt 
certain had been indignantly repulsed, and 
yet, though fully convinced of this, she de- 
lighted by inuendoes, of which poor Lucy 
could not presume to take any notice, to 
imply the very reverse of ^^ hat she entirely 

" IIow odd it is, my k)vc," she said, one 
(lav, to her daughter Augusta, fixing her eyes 


half shut up in the closest scrutiny on Lucy 
the while — " How odd it is that we have seen 
nothing of poor dear old Sir Jasper for sucli 
a long time. I never knew him absent him- 
self in this way before, except at the time, be- 
fore you can remember, my precious pet, when 
I had Miss Slick living with me as a com- 
panion ; and Miss Shck so overwhelmed poor 
Sir Jasper with her die-away looks, sighs, 
groans, compliments, and petits soi?is, that he 
took fright ; he thought she had a design on 
his fat white hand, and until he heard I had 
discharged her, he never ventured near tlie 

" I dai'c say," said Augusta, wlio had some 
quickness and a good deal of her motlier's 
persiflage — " I dare say, mamma, Sir Jasper 
thinks himself in some peril again." 

" Oh, I have no doubt he does ! I had a 
good laugh with your papa about it. lie says 
he will have it all out with him as soon as Xw. 
lights u])()7i liiin \v^a\\\. We arc going to 


drive down to ' The Willows ' to see after him 
again — but, dear me, what is the matter with 
Miss Blair?" she cried, with exulting malice; 
for, at the name of that terrible place " The 
Willows," and at the recollection of all she had 
suffered there, Lucy, whose feelings had long 
been on the rack, had felt a sudden faintness 
blanch her cheek, the sickness of death was at 
her heart, she closed her eyes, leaned back in 
her chair, and fainted awav. 




One day, about a month after the scene we 
have described between Lady Sarah and her 
nephew, and after a succession of very sad and 
very miserable days, Lady Hamilton Treherne 
sat at the head of the little class formed by 
her own daughters, her eyes full of triumphant 
spite, her watch on the table before her, ready 
to convict Lucy of that great cnmc in a Daily 
(joverness, and for which hard hearts sec no 
excuse in weather or indisposition, the being 
after the appointed time, — ten struck, so did 


eleven, so did twelve, and Lucy did not ap- 

The rain beat incessantly on the glass roof 
of the conservatory, and the wind moaned 
and howled ; Lady Hamilton Treherne looked 

"It is a miserable day," she said, " but 
weather ought to be no excuse for a Daily 
Governess. She can't be coming to-day, that's 
quite clear ; put away your books, you shall 
have a hohday." Lady Hamilton Treherne 
only pretended anxiety about the children's 
progress, to have an excuse for interfering and 
tormenting poor Lucy. 

"Perhaps she's met with some accident, 
mamma," said little Edith ; " she may have 
been run over." 

" She had a dreadful cold and couQ;h all 
last week," said Mirza, " and looked very ill, 
and hardly ate anything." 

" Oh, that was all pretence, because I was 
present," said Lady Hamilton Treherne ; " and 


she does not like my superintendence. It 
keeps her up to the mark." 

"Oh, mamma," said Augusta, who had 
some Httle instincts of candour and justice, 
''Miss Blair is always more particular and 
takes more pains when you are not present, 
than when you are." 

" Oh, so she may make you think, my pret- 
tiest," said the w^eak mother; '^but I know 
better. AVhy, Hannah told me last Saturday, 
because I was obliged to go and receive the 
Count, Miss Blair seized the opportunity to 
go up into Annette's room, and to have quite 
a scene there; and Hannah says, that thinking 
she was idling away time I pay her for, she 
went up, and Annette hearing her coming, 
shut and locked the door in her face, but not 
till slie had seen Miss Blair stretched like a 
heroine of romance on Annette's bed, her hair 
all down, pretending to faint, and Hannali 
says there was a strong smell ui' some spirit 
or other hi the room.". 


•'* I know she felt xevy ill, mamma," said 
Augusta ; '• for she turned deadly white — but 
what Annette trave her, and what Hannah 
smelt, was only some sal- volatile." 

'' Oil, I dare say," replied her ladyship ; 
" as if Hannah did not know the smell of 
sal-volatile I AMiy, she"s a veiy nervous, hyste- 
rical creature herself. All heart, and so de- 
voted ! Xo, no, if Miss Blair is ill, I shall 
begin to fear she has fallen into the habit so 
common among people of that class, of taking 
something to keep out the cold, as they say ! 
It's a vice that grows so rapidly on people, 
and is, alas I very common even among the 
\erv vouns;." 

" Oh, mamma, you're quite mistaken, Miss 
Blair never takes even a crlass of wine ; she 
dislikes everything fermented or distilled," 
said Augusta. 

" Oh, so she tells you, my pretty one ! But 
she's very deep — take my word for it — she's 
playing a part in more-^vays than one 1" 


" I wish I could think so, inaiiima," sighed 
the young girl, whose beauty borrowed a soft- 
ness and a charm not connnon to it, from her 
sympathy with Lucy. " I am so afraid she 
J nay be very ill, and perhaps die, and she is 
so very, very good and gentle, and patient, 
and clever, and we have tormented and 
wounded, and distressed her so much ! If any- 
thing happens to her, I shall never forgive 
myself;" and a few tears fell as she spoke. 

" Don't be an idiot, child," said Lady Ha- 
milton Treherne, angrily. " And don't talk 
such rubbish to your father, who returns to- 
day, and who cares more for that artful 
creature than he does for any of you. I be- 
lieve she's perfectly well, and only absents 
herself to enjoy some amusement, and to 
annoy me, knowing, as she does, my intense 
anxiety about your improvement." 

Augusta was about to answer, when James 
brought in a note ; it was from i\lrs. Blaii*, 
and ran thus : — 


*• Mhs. Blair presents her compliments to Lady 
Hamilton Treherne, and begs to inform her that Miss 
Blair is confined to her bed with severe cold and high 
fever, and would not, under any circumstances, be able 
to continue her attendance in Belgrave Square for some 
time ; but Mrs. Blair must also remark, that from cir- 
cumstances which have just come to her knowledge, she 
is convinced that her daughter has suffered much in 
spirit from the great harshness with which she has been 
treated by Lady Hamilton Treherne, and the extreme 
nukindness and insubordination of the Misses Hamilton 
Treherne. Mrs. Blair, much hurt that one so good and 
so strict in the performance of her painful duty, should 
have been thus ill requited, begs to inform Lady Hamil- 
ton Treherne that she does not intend to allow ^.liss 
Blair to resume her attendance in Belgrave Square at all ; 
and that had she been aware of the treatment her 
daughter daily received, she would have insisted long ago 
on her resigning a most arduous and thankless office." 
9, Arundel Street, Strand, 
Mondmj, July lU/i, 1856. 

As Ladv Treherne read this sensible, dio:ni- 
lied, and straightforAvard note, she grew first 
verv red with rao;e, and then livid with morti- 
fication and reven2;e. 

There was a lurking fear, too, in her base, 
mean heart. Wliat if Sir George, hearing of 


Miss Blair's illness, slioiild call on Mrs. Blair 
to enquire after her ; and yet, unless she told 
him of the Daily Governess's indisposition, 
how was she to account for her absence ? 

" How is poor Miss Blair ?" asked Au- 
gusta. " Is she very ill, mamma ? Oh, I fear 
she is," she cried, the colour forsaking her 
cheeks and the tears filling her eyes. 

The fine lady hesitated, and then said, 


'' Then why has she not come to-day ?" 

" She does not mean to come any more. 
The fact, I believe, is, she has got an off'cr of 
double the pay from some wealthy parvenue ; 
])ut she puts it off on your unkindness and 
insubordination, young ladies ! So wlien your 
papa retunis, you had better say nothing about 
it, leave it to me. 1 will explain all without 
any allusion to you ; and now amuse your- 
selves till dinner. Angusta, you shall take the 
head of the table to-day, and if you all be- 
have well, keep (jiiict, and say nothing to 


papa about Miss Blair, I will take you to the 
German Fair, after dinner, with that kind 
Count, who is so fond of you all." 

Lady Hamilton Treherne then hurried to 
her own room, and taking Mrs. Blair's letter 
from her pocket, she read it again, Avith white 
lips, and then thrust it into the fire. 

"Well,. I- suppose there's an end of her — at 
least so far as I am concerned," said Lady 
Hamilton Treherne to herself. "For luckily 
there's nothing owing to her, and I cannot 
see that she can have any excuse for ever 
showing her odious face here again. Perhaps 
it's all for the best ; my hatred of her was 
growing so uncontrollable, that it might have 
led to something I should have regretted. 
And now she's safe off, I shall write a line to 
Cecil Sydney, who so admires her, and order 
him, on pain of my eternal displeasure, to 
escort me to the Opera to-morrow. I don't 
see how Sir George can have any explanation 
with Miss Blair, or her impertinent old mo- 


tlier, since no one knows their address but 
myself. And now I must look out for some, 
one to supply her place ; for, as for having all 
those unruly girls on my own hands, it's quite 
out of the question. Indeed,. I shall not en- 
ter the school-room again now there's no Miss 
Blair to mortify and humble, by seeming to 
doubt her competency." 


Lucy's first illness. 

While in her silken boudoir Lady Hamil- 
ton Treherne communed thus with herself, 
and was not " still," but agitated by hatred, 
envy, jealousy, and malice, her poor young 
victim, Lucy Blair, lay on her little bed in her 
darkened room, happily unconscious of past 
and present, and, for once, without any dread 
of the gloomy, lowering future — for she 
was in the delirium of high fever. 

It was Monday, and she had been in bed 
since Saturday night ; for on her return from 


Belgrave Square, her feet very wet, and feel- 
ing chilled and ill, she had, after vainly trying 
to rally and calm her mother's fears, been 
obliged at last to own, with many tears, that 
she felt ill, and thought she should be better 

in bed Poor Mrs. Blair, who loved 

Lucy with the passionate tenderness of a de- 
voted heart which had nothing else to love, 
roused herself from her own languid inaction ; 
put her darling to bed — ^had a fire lighted in 
her own room, made the tea herself, and took 
her station by her child's couch. 

Mrs Bragge, hearing from Betty the startling 
news that poor Miss Lucy was gone to bed 
ill, came up to offer her services, followed by 
Mrs. Green Brown and Mincing — and as 
all these people were of the school of Jobs 
comforters, and of the vulgar herd who 
delight in prophesying evil and magnifying 
danger — poor Mrs. Blair was soon frightened 
into sending for a medical man, wlio IIvimI in 
an adjoining street, and who had one" attended 

VOL. I. X 


Mrs. Green Brown in a slight indisposition, 
and was considered by her a very clever doctor, 
and recommended as such. 

Now it happened very fortunately that Mr. 
Popkins was really clever, and much disposed 
to believe in the vis medicatrix natur(2, espe- 
cially in very young patients. He was a very 
good, honest, benevolent young man — rather 
vulgar — certainly ^ery deficient in polish and 
tact, and sorely put to it to make a livelihood. 
He was, therefore, all the more deserving of 
praise that he did not pour in quantities of 
drugs, not to benefit the patient, but his own 
pocket, lengthening at once the illness and 
the bill. 

" What did you bleed him for ? now, tell me, villain ! 
Sir ! he replied, I bled him for a shilling !". . 

could never have been quoted with reference 
to Mr. Popkins. 

Poor fellow 1 he had left the country village 
Avhere he had been assistant to the parish 
doctor, not merely because the work was so 


endless and laborious, and the pay so small, 
but because it was such pain to his kind, 
feeling heart to witness distress which he was 
not allowed to relieve, and, added to this, his 
employer's daughter was in love with him. 
And, although fancy-free and heart-whole at 
the time, not only did he 7iot return her affec- 
tion, but even if he had done so, knowing 
the ambitious views of her parents, he would 
have thought it treachery to them to respond 
to her advances. Indeed, having a high sense of 
honour, he would not for worlds have carried 
on a clandestine love afiliir in a house where 
he was imphcitly trusted. 

Peter Pop kins had an old aunt, who had, 
when he was left an orphan, reared and edu- 
cated him. She was a good, kind, httle old 
maid, and to her he always revealed every 
secret of his innocent life. He told her all, 
and just at this time a small surgical busi- 
ness was to be disposed of in Arundel 
Street, Strand. She had a great preference 

X 2 


for a town life, for she had been bom and 
bred in London — doted on its bustle, noise, 
and gaiety, and loathed the quiet and mono- 
tony of a country town, and so she proposed 
to Peter to purchase this business for him, 
and to settle herself in the small house that 
adjoined the surgery, so that he might board 
and lodge with her, and have a happy home 
with one whom he always called ' mother.' 

Peter Popkins' kind heart was intensely 
interested in his beautiful young patient, who 
by this time was tossing about on her little bed, 
her eyes wild with fever, her cheeks flushed, 
her hair dishevelled, and quite unconscious 
of the young doctor's presence. The terror and 
grief of poor Mrs. Blair affected him deeply ; 
but he was, as we have said before, very 
blunt and artless, and when the mother said 
in a faint voice, clasping her hands tightly 
together the while, '* Is there any danger ?" He 
answered, " Why, of course there is, ma'am, 
great danger — immediate danger! It's a very bad 


case of brain fever !" But he had no sooner ut- 
tered those unguarded words than he repented 
of them, for poor Mrs. Blair, who was standin<< 
before him expecting comfort, no sooner heard 
them, than she started as if she had been shot, 
littered a piercing cry, and fell at his feet in 
a death -like swoon — so death-like, in fact, 
was the syncope caused by this sudden and 
terrible dread of losing the sole joy, pride, 
prop, and solace of her life, that for some 
time the unlucky Popkins feared she wouhl 
never return to life. 

At length, however, the remedies he perse- 
vered in applying, restored her to conscious- 
ness — to misery ! . . 

But he wisely administered, among other 
cordials, a few drops of that elixir of life, 
" Hope," and when he said that every tiling 
would depend on the most watchful and care- 
ful nursing — that youth and an excellent con- 
stitution being on Miss Blair's side, the chances 
were all in her favour — but that anv disturb- 


ance, noise, neglect^ or failure in the most 
punctual administration of the remedies he 
prescribed, might have a fatal result, the 
mother swalloAved her tears — smothered her 
sighs — nerved her poor, sinking, beating 
heart, and resolved, after a fervent, inward 
prayer to God for strength, faith, and support, 
to forget self entirely in her devotion to her 
child, and to be herself solely responsible for 
the carrying out of every command the doctor 
gave her. 

'' Has Miss Blair suffered any great distress 
of mind lately?" asked Mr. Popkins, as he 
stood by the bedside and heard Lucy, in her 
delirium, cry out, " Save me, Henr}^ ! dear 
Henry, save me from that bold, bad man ! . . 
Spare me ! Oh, spare me, Sir Jasper. — At 
your peril, sir, approach me not ! Mother ! 
mother !" And then again she would murmur, 
" Lady Hamilton Treherne shall not have the 
triumph of seeing how she tortures me. . . 
Oh, those sneers ! those taunts ! . . Mother, 


hide me from those cold eyes — look, look, 
how insolently Hannah glares upon me ! ! 
Hark, that is Mr. Malmsey's voice, he is 
coupling my name with some bad w^ords, 
mother — that brutal laugh was his ! — and 
that is James's — that is Tomhnson ! . . . 
Milles remercimens, ma chere et bonne Made- 
raoiselle Annette ! . . Oh how the wind blows ! 
How the rain beats down upon my head ! I'm 
very cold ! . . My feet are so wet ! Mannna ! 
don't fear, Lady Hamilton Treherne ! . . I shall 
not give the young ladies cold, though I am, as 
you say, a damp stranger — ha ! ha ! ha ! . ." 
These, and such w^anderings as these, revealed 
to poor Mrs. Blair the state of her daughter's 
mind, and the cause of her illness ; and the 
result was the letter Lady Hamilton Treherne 
received, and which nothing but inatenia) 
anguish could have roused the meek, gentle, 
timid Mrs. Blair to write ; but, as in the casi^ 
of Mr. Malmsey's otter, we may perceive that 
Mrs. Blair had a spirit — most gcntlt^womcn 


liave — which could speak out with passionate 
eloquence and dignified rebuke when her 
darling was injured or insulted. 

Mrs. Blair's letter had filled even Lady 
Hamilton Treherne's cold, hard heart with 
regret and dread — regret that she should 
have lost her victim by carrying the system 
of quiet torture too far, and dread lest sooner 
or later Sir George should come to the know- 
ledge of the real cause of Miss Blair's abandon- 
ment of her post. 

It was a fortnight before Lucy was out of 
danger, and even then she was so weak as to 
cause great anxiety not only to her devoted 
mother and her young and intensely interested 
doctor, but to the warm-hearted Mrs. Green 
Bro\Mi, old Mrs. Grimes, and even poor 
honest Betty. 

The weather was very warm ; the summer 
had passed away ; the harvest moon had 
looked in through the dingy windows on the 
pale face and wasted form of poor Lucy ! 


There was nothing refreshing in the air that 
came in at those windows, and Lucy, though 
she would not say so for fear of distressing 
her poor mother, pined and gasped for the 
fresh breezes of the sea, or some sweet country 
spot. In her dreams she was again in the 
k)vely lands where she had dwelt, with her 
mother, only that ' He ' was by her side — 
with him she thought she wandered hand in 
hand through vineyards and orange groves — 
or floated in a gondola on the blue waters of 
the gulf of Venice, or sailed over the bright 
bay at Naples. 

And where was Henry Greville all this 
time ? And how comes it that, for nearly six 
weeks, he has not once written to Lucy or 
her mother, or called at their humble lodging? 
Can this apparent indifference to, and deser- 
tion of, one wliom he had professed to love 
so truly and entirely, have had anything to 
do with the agony of mind which caused 
Lucy's dangerous illness P 


No — Lucy could, if she would, explain the 
silence and the absence of Henry Greville, 
but in doing so she would reveal a sacrifice 
which she would fain conceal from her mother; 
we, however, will let the reader into a secret 
that, perhaps, has had something to do with 
Lucy's recent and severe illness. 




The day after his interview with his aunt, 
Lady Sarah, Henry, not wishing to expose Lucy 
to comment and scandal, by accosting her in 
any thoroughfare frequented by the fashion- 
able world, had watched for her in her own 
street, on her return home, and in the dusk 
had walked up and down before her door 
with her while he told her (in the gentlest 
words he could command) the result of his 
interview with Lady Sarah — and the dis- 
appointment of all his hopes in that quarter. 


He then urged her to consent to an immediate 
union, and to trust to chance and the pity of 
his friends (Lady Sarah especially), who would 
probably, Avhen it was irrevocable, see the 
wisdom of making the best of it. 

Poor Harry ! he spoke with all the eloquent 
sophistry of passion, and Lucy's own heart 
pleaded for him ; but yet she was finn. 

" It would be your ruin," she said gently, 

but firmly. " Your aunt would hate me — 

she would never forgive me — and some day, 

in poverty and anguish, you would reproach 

me, if not with your lips, in your dejected 

and half-broken heart. Then, too, my mother! 

— as your wife, Henry, I could not pursue 

the humble career which yet enables me to 

provide for her. I hate myself for having 

listened for a moment to you, and to my own 

weak heart ; — but it is over — I know my 

duty, and I will do it — leave me !" 

" Never !" cried Henry Greville ; " but T 
have got one plan to propose. Let us cmi- 


grate. What little property T have I will 
realize, and we will go to Australia, my 
Lucy — I will be a farmer, and you — can 
you bear to be a farmer's wife ?" . . 

" Oh, yes ; with you I should delight in 
such a change, such a life," said Lucy ; " but 
my mother?" 

" We will take her with us, dearest." 

" No ! Henry, no ! None but very young 
trees can bear transplanting — it would be her 
death, she can only live in England." 

" You drive me to despair," said Greville. 
" Lucy, you do not, you cannot, love me ?" 

Lucy looked up very pale, and tears in her 
eyes. " Henry," she said, "I do love you, 
with all my unhappy, half-broken heart ; '^ in- 
deed I love you too w^ell to be your ruin, and 
w^hen Duty and Inclination cannot go hand-in - 
hand, I know which I ouglit to follow. If 
you are ever in circumstances to claim me witli- 
out destruction to your ])rospects, do so, and 
you will find me true. If in the changes and 


chances of life my fortune should enable me 
to marry without sinful imprudence, claim my 
hand. Were I the heiress of a million, I 
would select you from a world which would 
then be at my feet. I never will, I never 
can marry another, Henry, for I love you with 
my w^hole heart ; but yet I must say farewell 
now — I cannot add, forget me and be happy 
with another ! I do not believe (judging of your 
love by mine) that you can transfer to another 
what is in that case a part of your very being ; 
but I do say you are young, gifted, enterpris- 
ing by nature, though hitherto (forgive me) 
an idler by habit. Let us part, each resolved 
to do our best to earn such an independence 
as ivould justify our marrying. Is it a bar- 
gain ?" and she held out her hand. 

" It is," he cried, pressing it to his lips. 
''Dearest! best! angel! Lucy! with such a prize 
in view I must win. When I see you again 
it will be to claim you as my bride. Remem- 
ber you are my betrothed now," he said, pull- 


ing off her glove and slipping a ring from his 
little finger on to the third finger of her Httle 
left hand. " You shall not hear from me 
again till 1 am in the Land of Promise ; and 
now, farewell." 

" Farewell, and God bless you, dear, dearest, 
Henry," said Lucy, in her turn taking from 
her middle finger a curious little ring, which 
she had found, when a child, among some ruins 
at Rome, and which, when cleaned, proved to 
be a great curiosity. It consisted of a very 
small but beautifully carved head of Psyche, 
with a brilliant on the brow, and surrounded 
by a few very fine emeralds. She put it on 
tlie little finger of his left hand, saying : 
" You know the history of this ring, and you 
know the magic power poets" assign to the 
emerakl — wear it for my sake — and in its 
evergreen glory behold a type of my tidcHty. 
Parewell, beloved," she added, sobl)ing, as he 
followed her into the dark narrow passage of 
liei- little old abode (the door was on the latch 


expressly for her convenience). He clasped 
her to his heart in a first and long embrace, and 
then tearing himself away, darted up Arundel 
Street, across the Strand, and was soon at his 
own lodgings in St. James's. Having con- 
verted into ready money what few valuables 
he had, and realized about five hundred 
pounds, he- a few days later set sail for 

Lucy kept their last meeting to herself. 
She would not let her mother suppose that, 
but for her, she, poor girl, would, as a hope- 
ful, happy bride, have shared that voyage ! 

Mrs. Blair was only too prone to look upon 
herself as a drawback and an inciunbrance 
to her darling and only child ; but it is cer- 
tain that no trifling stiniggle between Love 
and Duty agitated poor Lucy during tliat 
interview with Harry Greville, and long after, 
too ! 

It was no small matter to her to send him 
from her ; him whom «lie loved with the first 


fond love of her young heart ; whom it would 
have been such joy, and bhss, and comfort, to 
have bound to her for ever ; to have tended, 
cheered, cherished, watched, waited upon. 

" The treasures of the deep are not so pre- 
cious as the concealed comforts of a man 
wrapped up in a woman's love," she repeated 
again and again to herself; " and those com- 
forts I cannot give him, nor he, if he is true 
and constant, can he seek elsewhere." 

How dark to her seemed dingy London 
now ! How dark and dingy London is, in its 
meaner streets, to the poor and hard-working, 
and how bright, in comparison, bathed in 
the rosy tints of love and the golden hues ol' 
hope, seemed the Queen of the South, on 
the sunny shores of the Pacific ! 

Nor did Lucy feel for herself alone, in tliis 
great sacrifice to fihal love and duty. 

JIc was gone on this long voyage of nn- 
certain issue. Friendless and alone, perhaps 
judging, as man is too prone to judge of a 

VOL. \. Y 


Bacrifice that thwarts the passionate desires of 
his heart and the great hope of his hfe, he 
might imagine that Lucy was either incapable 
of true love, or, at any rate, of love for him. 
This unjust idea might grow into confinna- 
tion strong in her absence, and those who 
w^ould love him (for who could help loving 
him?) would' seem truer and fonder, if 
not fairer, and he' Avould forget what might 
seem to him the lukewarm affection of Lucy, 
and release her from her engagement, marry 
another, and settle in the Land of Pro- 
mise ; and then Lucy felt she never could 
love again, and should, after a long life of 
the dreary, unprogressive toil of a Daily 
Governess, become a forlorn old maid, and die 
(as so many of that worn-out sisterhood do), 
either in a lunatic asylmn, or, at best, in the 
Institution for aged governesses. 

Thus did poor Lucy torment herself, after 
Harry Greville was gone, and conjure up his 
image, at one time lonely, dejected, sick, suf- 


fering, and pining for her ; at another, reviv- 
ing, trying to forget the woman who had re- 
fused to share his uncertain prospects, re- 
sponding to the smiles of another ! Poor 
Lucy ! She liardly knew which picture was 
the most intolerable. 

And this secret mental conflict, added to 
her bitter trials at Lady Hamilton Treherne's, 
her exposure to all weathers, and the weari- 
some excitement of teaching, ended in the 
dreadful illness from which, in our last chapter, 
we left Lucy slowly recovering. 

END or VOL. I. 

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